


Bits 'n' Pieces

by JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fighting, Homophobic Language, M/M, individual chapter warnings in the notes at the beginning of the chapter, lots of fluff, misogynistic language, non-graphic discussion of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-05-14 02:26:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 39,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14760845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle/pseuds/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle
Summary: Collection of short fics and ficlets first posted onTumblr. Generally Zimbits.





	1. Kissing is Good

**Author's Note:**

> A snippet of what might have happened the first night Jack spent in Madison in July 2015, bc I had an hour to kill and I was thinking about how Jack was Eric’s first everything.

He definitely liked kissing, Eric decided.

The way Jack’s lips were soft and firm at the same time, pressing and sliding against his. The way they moved, sucking just a little at his lower lip, then at his upper lip, not demanding, but so warm and inviting.

Jack’s breath on his face. 

Jack’s lips parted, encouraging Eric’s to part. That was good. Very good. So was the sound Jack made when Eric followed his example and sucked Jack’s lower lip between his, just a little.

Jack’s tongue, touching the inside edge of Eric’s lips, then then licking further when Eric opened his mouth wider on a quiet moan. 

Jack tasted good. 

Eric experimented a bit more, letting his tongue push forward, feeling Jack’s teeth, tasting a hint of the bitterness of the beer he’d drunk after dinner. Then tasting something almost sweet. Jack.

Jack’s hands, cradling Eric’s head, supporting him but not controlling his movements. Jack’s fingers, brushing through the short hair at the nape of his neck.

Jack’s lips, moving to trail tiny kisses down the side of Eric’s neck. Jack’s smell, his soap and deodorant and Jack, in the air around Eric.

Eric knew the wooden slats of the back porch swing were digging into his hip where he was turned to face Jack as well he could. He knew it was uncomfortable. He didn’t care. He’d gladly stay here forever, wrapped in the warm summer darkness, shielded from his parents windows by the porch roof, well away from any curious neighbors.

Eric figured Jack liked kissing, if only from the way he had kissed Eric when he found Eric in Jack’s old room after graduation, then left with a promise to text.

Those brief kisses – just a few (three) presses of lips – those had been wonderful, and they gave Eric hope that when it came to it, he would like kissing. That he would like kissing Jack.

But he wasn’t entirely sure. The only other kiss he had – well, half a kiss, maybe – with the rugby player (Benjamin? Bradley?), hadn’t felt anything like this. When Benjamin (Eric was going to go with that, even if it wasn’t his name) had swooped over him in the booth at Annie’s, it had felt intrusive. His breath was hot, and Eric felt overheated and exposed as he twisted away, their mouths barely meeting as Eric moved to stand and flee. He felt equal parts guilty – most people would be okay with a kiss on a second date, right? – and angry, because Benjamin should have asked first. Maybe Eric would have said yes. Maybe if they weren’t in a crowded coffee shop.

This felt nothing like that. This was the silky texture of Jack’s hair in one hand, the solid muscles of his chest under the other. It was Jack’s lips exploring and asking, never demanding and taking. Although Eric was starting to expect that at some point, he would like that. This was Jack-110-percent-Zimmermann bringing all his focus to bear on making Eric feel amazing with just his mouth. This was safety and comfort and trust, and a frisson in Eric’s spine when he thought about taking it further. In a bed. Without wooden slats.

Eric dragged his lips to the corner of Jack’s jaw, feeling the stubble that had appeared there.

Kissing was definitely good, he decided.

“Hmmm?” Jack said. “Yes, kissing is good. Definitely.”

Lord, he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. No matter. It was true.

Eric leaned up to capture Jack’s mouth again.


	2. The Bachelorette Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This little drabble would come after[Springtime and Possibilities"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11098512/chapters/24762732), in which Bitty is living with Jack (in a canon-style committed relationship) while he interns in the communications department of a children’s hospital and makes money doing private baking lessons on the side._

Bitty took a long gulp of his wine before setting the glass down on the granite countertop. He took a deep breath.

“How’re y’all doing there?” he said brightly. “You got them all looking like your favorite dicks?”

The six women in the room giggled, or snorted, depending on just how much of the wine they’d imbibed and started to clamor for his attention.

“This one’s all bent,” said the one with messy brown ponytail. Katrina, Eric thought.

He was about to tell her it was OK – they could straighten it out on the cookie sheet – when one of the other women (Amber? Emory?) broke in.

“Is that how Kevin’s johnson looks?” she asked. “Never quite straight up?”

Bitty wondered, for about the sixth (sixteenth? sixtieth?) time why teaching a bachelorette party to bake and decorate sugar cookies seemed like a good idea. Especially when Gabby St. Martin, who had suggested him for the job, offered to buy the penis-shaped cookie cutters herself.

The women had all insisted that the bride-to-be, Meghan, use the biggest of the set, in deference to the supposed endowment of her groom. Although really, none of the cookie cutters were of a size that a guy could really be proud of. As soon as that thought crossed his mind, Bitty blushed and made a silent apology to the voice of his conscience that sounded suspiciously like Shitty.

The women made lots of off-color jokes, but mostly left Bitty out of it. He wasn’t sure if Gabby – who was either drinking less or holding her liquor better than the others – had told them that he was gay, in a relationship, or both, but they weren’t grabby or disrespectful. Honestly, he thought, women helping out at a bachelor party probably would have to deal with more than jokes about sex that didn’t involve them.

As soon as the cookies were in the oven and Bitty was done mixing up the frosting – “White. Lots of white” – Amber broke the pattern.

“So you’re gay, and you live with a hockey player?” she said. “What’s that like?”

Well.

“How do you mean?” he said. Was it supposed to be hard for him to keep his hands off his roommate’s hot hockey bod? (It was, but only because Jack was already his boyfriend and actively encouraged his wandering hands.)

“I just mean, jocks can be like, real douches,” Amber said. “I mean, he knows you’re gay, right? He doesn’t give you trouble, does he?”

Ah, the other offensive stereotype. Bitty saw Gabby’s eyes widen, but he shook his head minutely.

“Jack’s known I was gay for years before he invited me to bunk in over the summer for my internship,” Bitty said with a shrug. “I mean, at Samwell, it’s not really considered weird or anything. We were friends and he had room. It seemed ideal.”

“Besides, Eric here has a boyfriend,” Gabby chimed in. “It’s not like Eric’s on the prowl or anything.”

Katrina made a clawing motion and said “Mrreaow!” Someone should cut her off and let her sober up before they went out again later, Bitty thought.

“So what’s your boyfriend like, Eric?” Meghan asked.

“He’s really smart,” Eric said. “Kind of a history nerd, but so passionate about it. Kind and gentle. Gorgeous, too.”

“Sounds dreamy,” Amber said. “You’re making me jealous. All the good ones are taken or gay.”

“He’s both,” Eric said. “And to do him justice, I’d need a whole nother size of cookie cutter.”


	3. Wedding Prep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a prompt from [@missweber](http://missweber.tumblr.com/)

Bitty closed the screen of his laptop very gently.

Then he buried his face in his hands, scrubbed them over his eyes, and said “Good Lord.”

He only jumped a little when he heard Jack’s voice behind him.

“Everything all right?”

Bitty twisted around to face Jack, not concerned about the way his hair was going every which way from his fingers raking through it, and said, “Can we elope already? I don’t think I can stand six more months of this.”

Jack filled a glass from the kitchen and tap and said, “Which one? Mine or yours?”

“Mine,” Bitty groaned. “I swear she thinks it’s not a real wedding without yards of white organza and orange blossoms. She keeps sending me pictures of men decked out in white tailcoats with ridiculous pastel cummerbunds and ties. And there was a link to a story where you could rent doves to release to … symbolize something or other. I told her we just wanted a low-key wedding. Why is she doing all this?”

Jack leaned against the counter and drank his water.

“Is she feeling left out, maybe?” he said. “Because we’re doing it in Montreal?”

“I don’t know.” Bitty said. “Maybe. Probably. But I don’t care if same-sex marriage is legal – there’s nowhere in Madison that I would want to do this. Even at home – it could make things difficult for Coach. And too many people would get wind of it here in Providence.”

Jack considered.

“Parse suggested we head out to Vegas,” he said. “Then at least she wouldn’t feel like she’s losing out to my parents.”

“First, no,” Bitty said. “Not Vegas. And second, it’s not a competition! Your folks have room, and it’s private, and they offered. They even offered to let my folks stay at the house. What more does she want?”

“Maybe something to do?” Jack suggested. “So she’d feel part of it?”

“But you should see what she’s sent, Jack. How can I put her in charge of flowers or wedding favors or anything if she’s trying to make this into a recreation of Princess Diana’s wedding to Prince Charles?”

“Wasn’t that like, in the ‘80s?”

“When my mother was in prime dreaming-of-weddings mode, yes, Jack. Flower girls, Jack. She wants flower girls. Does she think we can just rent them?”

“It’ll be all right, _lapinou,_ ” Jack said. “Let me shower and then we can head for the market, OK?”

*******************************

“Of course I care about Uncle Mario and Uncle Wayne, and Ray and Steve and all of them, and Julia and Meg and Sandra too,” Jack said to his mother later. “But we can’t have them all at the wedding, Maman. This is my wedding, mine and Bittle’s, not yours and Papa’s.”

He paced on the balcony in the chilly air, his phone held up to his ear. He paused to listen, glad that Bitty was busy in the kitchen with his music going and couldn’t hear his half of the conversation.

“I know they care about me,” he said. “And marrying Bittle is well worth celebrating, I agree. But we really want to celebrate with our friends – our friends from Samwell, and Providence, and some of Eric’s family. Even with that, I’m counting about 50 people, give or take. But at least none of them require their own security.”

“Thanks, Maman. If you want, maybe we can have a party after we get back from France? Invite the whole world if you want. It can be your world, but I’ll bring Eric so you can show him off.”

“Yes, Maman, Eric said he got the pictures of the suits you sent. He liked them, I think, but there was some change … I don’t remember. You’re going to have to talk to him.”

Jack ended the call and went into the kitchen.

“I think I have it sorted,” he said. “But we might have to show up at a party when we get back from the honeymoon. I told her to talk to you about the suits.”

“Mm,” Bitty said, concentrating on a tiny lattice for a mini-pie. “As long as they’re not white, they’re fine, really.”

“I have an idea,” Jack said. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“OK.”

“You know how we were going to Montreal over the bye week to taste food and pick a florist and all?”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t we invite your parents to come, too? Or just your mom, if your father is busy?”

“Because?”

“Because then she could feel like she’s involved,” Jack said. “Don’t worry about all the white lace and stuff. Maman will make sure we get something you’d approve of. But then Maman would also have someone to gush to.”

“She does think your mother’s a style icon,” Bitty said.

“She’s never seen my mother in yoga pants and one of my dad’s old T-shirts,” Jack said. “And anyway, my mother thinks your mother is refreshingly unjaded and one of the most genuinely nice people she has ever met.”

Bitty snorted. “Yes, well, she’s never challenged my mother’s jam supremacy.”

“So you think it will work?”

“Probably,” Bitty said.

“Good,” Jack said. “Then they can both convince you it’s not a good idea to make five dozen mini-pies with lattice tops for party favors the day before the wedding.”


	4. Chopped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Bitty bakes with the boys._

__ _Bitty bakes with the boys._

“Chop, chop!” Bitty said. “These apples aren’t going to chop themselves, boys.”

He turned dish drainer to pluck out a paring knife, apparently intent on demonstrating – again – the proper technique for relieving an apple from its skin.

Tango leaned over towards Whiskey. “Why are we doing this again?” he asked in not quite a whisper, eying the heaping baskets of green and red apples that sat in the middle of the table.

“We’re doing this because Bitty said so,” Chowder chimed in, gripping his own paring knife like a hockey stick.

“Better question is why did we elect him captain?” Whiskey said.

Dex and Nursey were both about to jump in when Bitty turned around.

“I ask that myself each and every day,” he said.

“Uh, no offense,” Whiskey said.

“None taken, I’m sure,” Bitty said primly. “But the fact is, you guys did elect me captain, and I aim to welcome our new tadpoles right. And have pie for the coaches, and, yes, some left over for the Haus. And I could be in the kitchen all day doing it myself, or I could teach all you heathens how to make an apple pie that will charm the pants off … whoever you want to charm. And their mother. Trust me, you’ll thank me.”

“So who did it work on for you?” Wicks asked. “Your NHL boyfriend or his movie star mom?”

“You forgot his Hall of Fame father,” Bitty said and winked.

Then he picked up one of the green apples. “This here’s a Granny Smith, and it’s for those of you who like a little tartness in your pie.”

He took a red one.

“This is a Cortland. It’s a bit sweeter, and doesn’t hold its shape so well, so it’s a smoother, silkier feeling pie. But you peel them the same. This here’s the easiest way to do it, if you don’t have a spiral peeler.”

“But we do have one of those peelers you attach to the counter,” Tango pointed out. “Why don’t we use that?”

“Because we don’t have one, I have one,” Bitty said. “And if I’m not with you and you need to make a pie –”

“Can’t see when I’ll ever need to make a pie,” Whiskey said.

“Just you wait and see,” Bitty said. “But if you don’t believe me, that’s fine. When you want to make a pie, you’ll have to peel the apples by hand. So you’re going to do like this: Trim off the top and bottom so they’re flat, then just peel the sides in strips, like so.”

He stood back and watched as Whiskey, Tango, Chowder, Ollie and Wicks carefully sliced the skin away from the flesh of the apples.

“Why aren’t Poindexter and Nurse doing this?” Ollie asked.

“Because Dex is going to help me roll out the crusts,” Bitty said. “And Nursey is going to take the peeled apples and slice them. With his fingers far away from the blade of the knife, right, Nursey?”

“O Captain my Captain,” Nursey responded.

Bitty started a playlist as the boys got to work. He and Dex stood at the counter rolling out dough, Dex imitating the way he rolled from the center in firm strokes and measured by holding an upside-down pie plate over the crust.

Nursey snagged the naked apples tossed his way and sliced them into separate bowls, one for the Cortlands and one for the Granny Smiths. The others raced to see who could peel the apples the fastest and traded barbs and jabs and stories of the summer.

“You don’t need pie to get in anyone’s pants,” Wicks started, looking at Chowder. “You’ve got Farmer.”

Chowder blushed and looked at his apple. “I’m not gonna answer that,” he said. “But I might want to impress her mother one day.”

“Dex can already cook,” Nurse said. “He cooked for his whole family when I visited this summer.”

“And Nurse can order out with the best of them,” Dex said, carefully lifting a crust wrapped around his rolling pin and transferring it to a waiting pie plate.”

“Why –” Tango started, but Bitty cut in.

“Now we’re going to divide these apples into three bowls: one Granny Smith, one Cortland, and one mixed,’ he said. “And we’re going to add some cinnamon and some other spices, and a little bit of flour and some sugar and stir it all up.”

In the end, they had eight pies. “How about one each for Hall and Murray, and four for the new guys at the first meeting tomorrow?” Bitty said. “That means two for us for dessert.”

“Why do you make pie for the first meeting?” Tango asked.

“Well, Tango, I’m glad you asked that,” Bitty said. “It’s kind of a tradition …”


	5. Coach's meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A fly-on-the-wall view of the meeting where Hall and Murray consider offering Bitty a hockey scholarship_

“What do you think?” Murray nodded towards the screen on Hall’s desk.

“He’d be an unusual choice,” Hall said. “Undersized, no real hockey experience to speak of. Getting Zimmermann was supposed to make people take us seriously. What message would a kid like that send?”

Murray’s shoulders slumped and he nodded.

“I know,” he said. “He hasn’t got much of a track record. But look at the speed. Imagine having him move the puck. Imagine him taking a stretch pass.”

“Imagine him getting knocked into next week by someone who has 70 pounds on him,” Hall said.

“They’d have to catch him first,” Murray said.

Hall kept watching as the kid – Eric Bittle, according to the file name – spun around an opponent and buried the puck in the back of the net. Good hands, although that goalie had barely moved. Not much of a challenge, but still.

“He’d be different,” Hall said again. “I agree there’s a lot of upside, but –”

The picture on the screen changed, catching both coaches’ eyes. Now the kid – Bittle – was dressed in spandex and sequins and spinning and leaping across the ice.

The coaches watched for a few moments before Murray said, “I guess we know where the speed comes from.”

“Where’d we get the tape from?” Hall asked.

“The usual – his coach, although in this case it’s a rec league coach from Morgan County, Georgia,” Murray said. “Apparently the kids father is a local football coach down there, and he did some asking around about who to send it to. Seems like maybe someone he knew at BC told him to check out Samwell.”

“So BC didn’t want him?” Hall said.

Murray shrugged. “Could be for a lot of reasons.”

“Small kid like like that, figure skater,” Hall said. “Guess I can see why he didn’t want to go to Georgia.”

“No hockey at Georgia?” Murray said.

“You know what I mean,” Hall said. “One in four and all that.”

“Can’t really tell by looking,” Murray said. “Not really our business, either.”

“No, it’s not,” Hall said. “But maybe it explains why he found us.”

“You think our team would have a problem with him?” Murray said.

“With his sexuality, whatever that is?” Hall said. He snorted. “Nope. As long as Knight’s on the team, no one will say a negative word for fear of the haranguing they’d get. For his size and skill – or lack thereof – well, Zimmermann’s not the most patient of young men.”

“But Zimmermann would really benefit from a speedy winger,” Murray said. “You saw how he played with Parson.”

Hall left the window open, the video stilled on an image of the Bittle kid mid-leap. He opened a spreadsheet in another window.

“Who else are we looking at?” he asked.

“No one really special,” Murray said.

“Fine,” Hall said. “You like this kid. I like him, too. Takes some kind of mettle to even send his stuff here. We can’t offer him a full ride, but we can do a partial scholarship. We can bring him along a little more slowly, give him time to fit in with the other boys. But God help us when Zimmermann finds out.”


	6. Jack Drops the Gloves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack feels the need to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompt response
> 
> _**TW for misogynistic and homophobic language, and fighting.** _

“You are such a fucking pussy!”

O’Sullivan was still cursing as the ref skated him to the box, while Poots made his way, nearly doubled over, to the Falconers’ bench. Jack glared at O’Sullivan all the way into the box, but he kept silent. It wasn’t worth risking a penalty of his own and negating the Falconers’ power play.

Jack watched Poots make his way from the bench down the tunnel, accompanied by a trainer, then won the face-off. Thirty seconds later, the Falconers had scored to take the lead and O’Sullivan was back on the ice. Poots had not returned to the bench. It didn’t seem fair.

That’s the way it usually went when the Falconers played the Bruins, especially in Boston. There was a natural rivalry, with the teams being so close geographically and a sense that the Providence team was on the way up while the Bruins were going through a rough few seasons. 

Most of the guys in Boston were fine; Jack was even friendly with a few. But every time they played, O’Sullivan couldn’t – wouldn’t – keep his mouth shut. He seemed to think getting under other players’ skin was part of his game, and the misogynistic slurs weren’t the half of it. He made comments about Jack using drugs and being crazy, and he used every derogatory word for gay that Jack could think of, and racial and ethnic slurs weren’t off the table either.

Every game against the Bruins, Jack took a moment to steel himself, to remind himself that whatever O’Sullivan said, it wasn’t personal. There was no reason to think O’Sullivan knew that Jack wasn’t straight; he’d called most of the team fairies and faggots, and to react would only let O’Sullivan know he’d touched a nerve. So Jack very deliberately put on his hockey robot mask and concentrated on playing better hockey than O’Sullivan could ever hope to.

Bitty had noticed. Of course he had. TV broadcasts didn’t pick up the words O’Sullivan used, but it was clear from watching on the screen or in the stands that O’Sullivan always had something to say, and Bitty knew Jack well enough to recognize when he had his defenses up.

“Are you ok?” Bitty asked before a game in late March, a game that would help determine playoff position for the Falconers and might determine whether the Bruins made it to the playoffs at all. “Would it help to talk about it?”

“No,” Jack said. “O’Sullivan’s just an asshole, and there’s not much I can do about it. Trash talk is part of the game, eh?”

“Then get out there and beat his sorry butt,” Bitty said. “See you after the game?”

“Of course, _lapinou._ Don’t worry,” Jack said.

Don’t worry, Jack said, but Bitty couldn’t help but see that O’Sullivan’s mouth was running constantly from the opening face-off. When he was on the ice, when he was on the bench, he never stopped, and it seemed like it was directed at Jack whenever he was close enough to hear.

Jack, for his part, kept his face expressionless. But he kept his head up, his feet moving and his stick active, and he had two of the Falconers’ four goals heading into the third period.

The period had only just started when O’Sullivan started again, and this time he must have said something different, because Jack dropped his gloves and headed straight for him. Bitty’s jaw dropped in disbelief. Jack was nearing the end of his second NHL season and, up until now, had never been involved in an official fight.

Jack got a solid punch to O’Sullivan’s jaw in before the officials separated them and escorted them to their respective penalty boxes. Jack refused to look at the other box. He looked straight ahead, the shadow of a smile on his lips, as he took a swig from the water bottle and wiped his face with the towel.

He did watch the officials closely as they announced offsetting penalties – five for fighting for each of them. Jack did not get the extra two for instigation, which meant the refs had heard enough from O’Sullivan.

After the game, Bitty gave him a quick, almost-appropriate-for-bros hug and asked what he was dying to know.

“What did he say to you? I mean, he was going all game.”

“He brought my parents into it,” Jack said. “My mom, really. Said I couldn’t be my father’s son, so who else had she … you know.”

“Oh my God, Jack, that’s awful,” Bitty said.

Jack shrugged. “I could kinds deal with that, until he suggested himself as a possible partner. That was going too far. But don’t tell my parents, OK? They’ll somehow think it’s their fault. Anyway, it worked out.”

The penalty hadn’t really swung the game either way. The Falconers had gone on to win 5-2 with an empty-net goal in the last minute, and O’Sullivan’s skates had barely touched the ice once he was out of the box.

Bitty shook his head and gave an exasperated sigh.

“Ok,” he said. “I admit you had cause, and that, well, maybe it was a tiny bit –”

“Hot?” Jack offered hopefully.

“Distracting,” Bitty said with a giggle. “But for future reference, when I tell you to beat someone, that’s really not what I mean.”


	7. The Mayor of Halloween Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is filling an anonymous prompt for Bitty dressing up as Jack Skellington, and Jack’s reaction.

Bitty pulled the garment bag out of his closet and considered.

He’d brought this with him specifically for Halloween. He’d done the puck bunny thing last year – speaking of terrible life choices. He wasn’t sure who took the pictures that ended up on the Swallow’s website, but he’d had people making rabbit ears at him for weeks.

The year before that he’d been Mrs. Lovett because _pies_ , but this year, he wanted something not so … feminine, maybe, not that anyone would consider Mrs. Lovett a sex symbol or anything.

But this year, he was the captain of this team, and the Halloween kegster came just after the season started, and he needed something that would demonstrate that he was in charge. Or at least not make him seem cute.

On a visit home before returning for the school year (and wasn’t that a change: his parents’ home was now a place he visited), he’d spent an afternoon helping Mama organize the attic, moving some of his old things out of his parents’ way and making room for Mama’s new sewing machine in the guest room.

That was what gave him the idea, really. The old things in the attic, both the collection of Halloween Town figurines and the rack with his old figure skating costumes.

There was the tiny statue of Jack Skellington, the leader of Halloween Town. And there was the black coat he’d bought for his last costume – he’d planned to skate to Phantom – but, well, that skate never happened.

The coat had been a bit big then, and it was more than a bit snug now, but that would work for what he wanted. He still had black tights that fit, and a dance belt. He could do this: Not a burly monster or a bedraggled zombie, but the spritely skeleton who was clearly in charge of the holiday.

With the bag stashed in the closet, Bitty had gone along with it when the frogs started talking about a Halloween kegster. The new baby tadpoles (what do you call a frog before it’s a tadpole?) had been around for two months, and they were ready to be exposed to the drunken debauchery of a real Haus party. As long as Bitty could make sure they ate enough and drank enough water.

Ollie and Wicks were eager to prove their version of tub juice was just as revoltingly strong as Ransom and Holster’s, and the rest of the boys were itching for some fun.

But when Dex and Nursey came up with the idea of a Haunted Haus kegster, Bitty had wanted to talk them out of it. First, because he wasn’t sure tub juice and jump scares were entirely compatible; second, because he didn’t want people losing it in his kitchen, and there was no way on God’s green earth that any of the boys would allow guests upstairs during a kegster, and a haunted Haus meant people would have to go somewhere; and third, because he wanted to be Jack Skellington, and that just wasn’t scary enough for a haunted house. Or maybe that was first.

But that was a selfish reason, so he agreed to the Haunted Haus party. All the haunting would be on the ground floor of the Haus, and guests would be escorted from the end of the spooky pathway through the kitchen and out to the back porch, where they could get more drinks (“Dude, everyone has to drink before they go in,” Wicks had insisted. “That’s not safe,” Bitty countered. “Not everyone can have alcohol, or wants to.” “They can drink water for all I care,” Ollie declared. “They just have to drink.”)

With Bitty on board, the new Haus mates started planning in earnest. Nursey called on his theater friends to offer props, Dex planned for creepy creaking doors and caskets, ghosts and spiders dropping suddenly from the ceiling, and bursts of mist and cool air. Nursey was creating and a soundtrack of screams and moans (“Sweet!” Wicks said. “That’ll reduce some inhibitions.”)

Even Chowder got into it, talking about the vintage goalie mask he could wear to portray a terrifying serial killer.

“He’ll have to wear it to scare anyone,” Bitty told Jack over Skype that night. “Chowder can’t be frightening unless he has a goalie mask on. Kind of eerie how that happens.”

“So what are you going to be?” Jack said. “How will I recognize you when I come up?”

“You’re not seriously going to come, are you?” Bitty said. “I mean, I know we talked about spending Halloween together since you don’t have a game, but it’s going to be a fright show up here. Literally.”

“It’ll be fine,” Jack said. “I’ll wear a costume. You won’t have to stay all night, right?”

“No, and we don’t practice until the next afternoon,” Bitty said. “I’m thinking of making my escape to Providence and let the boys handle the cleanup. I’m not sure I really want to do a haunted Haus anyway.”

“Not a fan, eh?” Jack said. “You don’t like being scared like that? We can go through together if you want.”

“You think I’m gonna want to cling my big strong boyfriend?” Bitty said, managing to hold it a moment before snorting. “Jack, honey, I’m always happy to get close to you, but I don’t think anything these guys come up with will scare me. Especially since we all are gonna have to help set it up.”

“Guess I’ll see you there then, bud,” Jack said. “Maybe I can cling to you.”

When the call ended, Bitty breathed a sigh of relief. He’d managed to distract Jack from pursuing his question about Bitty’s costume, and Bitty wanted it to be a surprise. He’d promised Jack he wouldn’t show as much skin as he had last year (“If you’re dressed like that, _lapinou_ , I won’t be able to leave your room without everyone at the party knowing how I feel about you”), but he wanted the costume to be a surprise.

******************************

Jack waited until 9:30 to leave for the Haus. He’d promised himself he’d wait until 10, knowing kegsters didn’t really get going much before then and his arrival would be less likely to cause a stir if everyone was past their first cup of tub juice, but Bitty was there, so that was where he wanted to be.

He checked himself out in the mirror: plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, cowboy hat, bandanna that he could pull over his face if he needed to. He couldn’t do much about the jeans – they were one of his two regular pairs, since he had to have them specially tailored. Even if they didn’t look like he’d been riding the range, Bitty assured him they showed off his, uh, assets, to their best advantage. A costume store gun belt with plastic six-shooters completed the look.

It was Halloween, but it was also a Monday night, so traffic from Providence to Samwell was light and Jack had parked his car down the block and was making his way to the Haus by 10:15.

It seemed like most of Samwell’s student body was headed toward the Haus, with costumes ranging from zombies and witches to firefighters and cheerleaders.

He was just heading toward the front porch when he heard someone say, “Well, get an eyeful of you, Jack. I gotta say, that’s a good look for you. Helps make Halloween the wonderful holiday it is.”

Jack looked around to see who was talking to him. He thought he looked pretty good – better than with the lame cat ears from last year – but that was a little over the top. But no one seemed to have even noticed he was there. The guy talking was on the porch steps, addressing someone in the shadows of the hanging spiderweb.

Must be another Jack, then.

Then Jack heard Bitty’s warm laugh.

“So that means I’d best be happy with Halloween and not take over Christmas, too?” he said. “You’re too kind. I see you have your drink; step right in and see the frights! Don’t worry, there’s plenty of cookies and snacks to revive you at the end.”

Bitty had stepped into the light and was holding the door open for the guy, who was in a traditional Dracula outfit.

“How about a bite out of your neck?” Dracula said. “I vant to suck your –”

“Oh, there’ll be plenty of people back there to try that line on,” Bitty said. “But the only way to get to the party is through the Haus. Good luck! Try not to scream!”

And with Bitty’s hand firmly at his back, the guy was through the door and Jack could take a long look at his boyfriend, whose body somehow looked longer and leaner that usual. He was wearing a black suit – sort of. The jacket was nearly form-fitting, with tails in the back and a tie that looked like a bat. If the jacket was nearly form-fitting, the pants were – well, Jack couldn’t see any underwear lines under the glare of the porch lights, but the bulge at his groin was clearly apparent.

Jack forced his eyes back up. Bitty’s hair was slicked back and his face was white, with his features made up to look like black sutures. And the guy had called him Jack. Must be some character – not Jack Sparrow, although that look would be good on Bitty too, he thought.

“Howdy, partner,” Jack said, stepping into the light.

Bitty turned and caught sight of him.

“Jack! You make a great cowboy! Haus rules are that you have to have a drink to go in, but it doesn’t have to be whatever excuse for tub juice these boys have put together. There’s beer, or water.”

“Mmm, much like the vampire, I’d rather have you.”

Bitty made a face that made the drawn-in mouth twist. “Heard that, did you?”

“You did an admirable job of sending him to the demons,” Jack said. “You are something in that. Do you have to stay here?”

“Not really,” Bitty said, slipping his phone from a pocket Jack hadn’t noticed. “I’m the captain, remember? Let me get one of the tadpoles to take over the door. Then I will escort you through the haunted Haus with no interruptions.”

“You’re sure about that?” Jack asked skeptically.

“You forget, I am the mayor of Halloween Town,” Bitty pronounced.

“Really?” Jack asked.

“Jack, you don’t know who I am?”

“You’re the mayor of Halloween Town.”

“Jack! I’m Jack Skellington! From _Nightmare Before Christmas_? You must have seen it.”

“Skellington? Like a skeleton? That’s why you look so thin?”

“And move so gracefully,” Bitty said, pirouetting on the threshold as Tango arrived.

“The door is yours, my good man.”

Jack crowded up behind Eric as they entered the darkened living room.

“I don’t doubt the moves,” he said. “But I know there’s more than skin and bones under that suit. Let’s get through this as fast as we can and hit the trail, eh?”

“Sure thing, partner,” Bitty said. “Let’s see if those guns of yours fire anything but blanks.”

Then he giggled, and Jack laughed, and he was having the best Halloween of his life.


	8. Santa Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Please enjoy this Christmas drabble_

As charity assignments went, it wasn’t one Jack looked forward to.

Sure, somebody had to be Santa for the skate with kids from the community groups

Falconers Charities helped during the year. But there was a whole team full of hockey players who could fill the role, many of them much more jolly than Jack.

But George had always been Jack’s biggest booster, so when she asked – only in the most technical sense of the word, because Jack knew he was expected to comply – he didn’t complain. Much.

Even so, it was a relief to take off the suit, which Jack was pretty sure was heavier than full pads. It was still and hot and he thought it smelled bad, even if it had come straight out of a dry cleaning bag.

The event hadn’t been bad – a half-hour of slow laps, holding the hands of little ones that could barely stay up on their skates and scooping up the kids who got a bit too adventurous and wiped out in the corners, followed by an equal amount of time in a ridiculous red armchair, posing for photos and listening to Christmas wishes.

The most important thing, George had impressed on him, was to make no promises.

He’d stuck to it, knowing that many of these kids would be getting the bulk of their gifts through the organizations that participated in Skate with Santa. Except for one. The little girl who had climbed on his lap introduced herself as Brianna, and she was most eager to tell him that she could read this year, a feat for which he offered his solemn congratulations. It was a big accomplishment, after all.

Then she told him she had been reading the mugs on the shelf at the store, and saw one that said “World’s Best Mom.”

“Can I please have that mug?” she asked.

Jack had been confused.

“Maybe Santa can’t get that exact mug,” he said. “Maybe someone already bought it and took it home. Maybe you could get a doll so you can be the best doll mom.”

He knew that there were lots of dolls among the toys that would be distributed.

She had shaken her head vehemently.

“It’s not for me,” she said. “Well, it is, but only so I can give it as a present. I want it for my mom. She gets up and makes me breakfast and takes me to school and picks me up and makes me dinner and helps me with my homework every day, and then on the weekend she takes me to the park or skating or to a museum. But I heard her on the phone with grandma saying she doesn’t think she can do it by herself.”

“It’s very nice of you to think of her,” Jack said.

“I want her to know she is doing a good job, even if I complain about my homework,” Brianna said. “But I can’t do it myself. Will you help me, Santa?”

“I will,” Jack said.

He saw George shaking her head in exasperation out of the corner of his eye. Then he saw her approach the social worker who came with the group for Brianna’s information.

When Jack walked into the condo, he had replaced the heavy hat that came with the costume with one of lightweight fleece ones that all the adults at the party had been wearing, the better to hide his flattened hair.

He could hear music coming from the kitchen, and he stopped in the doorway to watch Bitty bopping around from fridge to counter, singing along with Eartha Kitt, “Santa baby, an auto space convertible too, light blue, I’ll wait up for you, dear, Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight.”

Jack inhaled the cinnamon and ginger scent that had meant Christmas since the first year Bitty came to Samwell. Bitty’s hips swayed and his behind stuck out when he bent over to put a tray of gingerbread cookies in the oven, singing “Think of all the fun I’ve missed, think of all the fellas that I haven’t kissed. Next year I could be also good, if you’ll check off my Christmas list.”

He turned and saw Jack watching, and just smirked as he sang to him, “Santa honey, I want a yacht and really that’s not a lot. Been an angel all year, Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight.”

He punctuated the verse with a kiss, then said, “Everything go OK? You’re later than you expected.”

Jack pulled the hat off his head, put it on Bitty’s and leaned in for another kiss.

“I just had to stop and get one more gift,” he said.

“Not really a yacht, I hope,” Bitty said.

“No, this,” Jack said, plunking the “World’s Best Mom” mug on the counter.

Bitty looked at it.

“I’m sure your mom will appreciate the sentiment, Jack, but you already got her that necklace,” Bitty said.

“Not for my mom,” Jack said. “Not even for yours.”

“OK?” Bitty said.

“It’s for one of the kids today,” Jack said. “I am Santa Claus, after all.”


	9. Oh my.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Based on the tweets released 12/25/17._

Bitty closed his mouth with a snap as he surveyed the Haus kitchen.

“Oh, my,” he said.

A cake — two layers with chocolate frosting and candles — had pride of place on the table. It looked a little lopsided. Well, it actually looked like the top layer might slide off at any moment, but, well, it would still taste good. He hoped.

“I made the cake,” Chowder said, following his gaze and beaming with his accomplishment.

“But I did the frosting,” Nursey piped up.

“Did the frosting, not made the frosting,” Dex said. “Let’s be clear.”

That made sense. The frosting looked fine, uniform in color and consistency. Probably too sweet if it came out of a can.

“Chill, man,” Nursey said. “I tried, but all the sudden it just got all weird and clumpy.”

“And you were not at all chill,” Dex contributed.

“It’s fine, Nursey,” Bitty said. “The chocolate probably just seized. If I was here, I could have showed you how to fix that. But frosting from the store works too.”

Bitty knew he’d done a vlog post sometime, oh, in his junior year of high school that would have covered it. Maybe he should have given them permission to watch it after all — he never thought they’d be baking for him.

The strawberry tartlets were definitely Dex’s, with perfectly done crust and what looked like homemade whipped cream. Holster and Ransom couldn’t wait to show off their sugar cutouts, all using Bitty’s hockey stick cutter. Some were a little bent, or spread a little wide. Next time, Bitty thought, he’d remind them to chill the dough thoroughly before cutting them out.

On the other hand, Lardo’s oatmeal, pecan and cranberry cookies looked perfect. The only problem was that it looked like about half the batch was missing. Which wasn’t really surprising, considering that Shitty was there.

This team.

“Y’all,” Bitty started, then had to swallow hard. “Y’all didn’t have to do this. You must have had Betsy II going all day.”

“Rans and Holster worked out the schedule,” Lardo said. “Who had class when, who could bake, who could find you and give you a hug …”

“Really, y’all didn’t have to. I was planning to make a cake,” Bitty said.

He’d had all the ingredients for a Lane cake, needing only to stop for a bottle of bourbon now that he was legal. He was afraid to check the fridge; the coconut was probably still there, but he was pretty sure the eggs and butter would be gone. Well. He could make the Lane cake Saturday, for Derby Day, he supposed.

“Jack told us to,” Chowder said.

“He sent a group email and everything,” Holster said, only rolling his eyes a little.

Bitty could sympathize; for such a wonderful boyfriend, Jack was quite the old man.

“Well, this all looks delicious,” Bitty said. “Shall we?”

With that, Shitty pulled out a lighter and did the honors with the candles.

Bitty took video of the team singing to send to Jack, then blew out his candles and cut the cake.

It was, as he expected, delicious. Almost as good as if he had made it himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Lane cake is a thing. Check out this[recipe](https://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/lane-cake). Yes, it calls for a half cup of bourbon._


	10. Welcome to the Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Set after comic 3.26_

Alicia sighed with relief as soon as she pushed the front door open.

The Montreal house was dark, but the scent of cinnamon and apples told her everything she needed to know.

_They’re here,_ she texted Bob, then considered her options.

It was 12:15 a.m., and the lights were off and the doors locked. It wasn’t terribly late, especially not for a college student like Eric, but the boys must be exhausted. Or … well, they might be otherwise occupied. Alicia smirked, suddenly seeing the humor in the situation now that she knew Jack and Eric were safe.

Maybe she should just go to bed and talk to them in the morning. Breakfast, she suspected, was going to be delicious.

Alicia climbed the stairs and faced the end of the hall where Jack’s bedroom was.

“Boys?” she called softly, hoping she wouldn’t disturb them if they were asleep, or … well.

The house was silent and she turned toward the master bedroom. She was about to close the door when she heard the snick of another doorknob turning, so she waited.

The other door opened, then closed, then the shadows resolved into the shape of Jack coming towards her.

“Maman? What are you doing here?”

He stood, pale in the moonlight that washed in from bedroom window, looking confused and worried, but not beside himself.

Alicia felt more of the tension she hadn’t been known she was carrying leave her body.

“Looking for you, cher,” Alicia said. “We were worried when you and Eric disappeared this morning, especially when we realized Eric didn’t have his phone, and you had yours turned off. Are you alright? Both of you?”

“Bitty’s asleep,” Jack said, which was not quite an answer, but at least they were safe.

“We can talk in the morning, then,” Alicia said. “Fais de beaux rêves. Je t’aime, Jack.”

“Bonne nuit, Maman,” Jack said. “I love you too.”

Alicia thought she’d be up before either of the boys, but when she opened her eyes to the bright June sun, she could smell coffee and something baking. As soon as she opened the bedroom door, she heard the sizzle of something frying.

She found Eric in the kitchen, sautéing vegetables on the stove. The coffee pot was mostly full, a basket of steaming muffins was on the table, and a carton of eggs stood at the ready.

“Good morning, Eric,” Alicia said, making him jump and turn, spatula raised. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh, no, Mrs. — Alicia. I just didn’t know you were here. Is Jack’s dad — of course it’s fine if he is, this is y’alls house after all — just we might need more eggs?”

“No, just me,” Alicia said. “I spoke to Jack when I got in, but he said you were sleeping. He didn’t tell you this morning?”

“No, ma’am,” Eric said. “He was still asleep. I think he could sleep for days and still be exhausted.”

“So you’re making breakfast because …”

“Because he’ll probably be up soon anyway, and even if he’s not I’m hungry and I can cook again later, and now you’re here,” Eric said with a bright smile that seemed more designed to deflect attention than to express his feelings. “And I do apologize for intruding. Jack said you would be in Providence for another little while.”

“No apology necessary,” Alicia said, pouring herself coffee and taking a muffin. “This is Jack’s home, too.”

Eric was turning back to the counter to start breaking eggs. Once he faced away, she said, “But can I ask why you two are here? I’m guessing you wanted some time alone, but the team was expecting Jack yesterday, and players usually at least wait until locker clean-out to escape.”

Eric’s head was down and his shoulders slumped as he whisked the eggs with milk.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just got scared.”

“No, Eric,” Alicia said. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I promise. But can you tell me what happened so we can figure out what to do next?”

“Nothing happened,” Eric said. “I mean, except what everybody saw. And then you saw Bob come up and hug both of us, and I felt like everything was going to be ok, and Jack went to the locker room and we were with the families, and then we all went to that one bar.”

Alicia nodded along, remembering the events she had seen. Jack and Eric had left intending to join the team in more revelry after she and Bob bowed out.

“When we got there, it was fine, but people must have heard we were there? Because more people showed up, and when we tried to leave, we could barely get through the door, and people were saying things, and a lot of them just wanted to see the team or the cup, but some of them wanted to see me,” Eric said, sliding an omelet onto a plate.

“Were they threatening you?” Alicia asked.

“Not really,” Eric said, setting the plate in front of her. “But it was just … why would they care about me? I didn’t win the Stanley Cup. All I did was kiss my boyfriend. Then I remembered that I kissed my boyfriend on TV, and my parents didn’t know I had a boyfriend, or even that I liked boys, or my MooMaw or anyone at home, and I knew that when I told Jack to kiss me, I swear I did, but somehow all those people made it real. I asked Jack if we could go home, but the whole team – the SMH team – was there, and they were so happy, and it was kind of out of hand.”

Eric was back at the stove assembling another omelet.

“I told Jack I wanted to go somewhere, just him and me, and he suggested we come here,” Eric said, shrugging. “He figured we could be alone.”

“Until I came to spoil it?” Alicia said, grinning.

“No, not like that,” Eric said. “Really.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Alicia said. “Really. But maybe you should tell some people that you’re ok?”

Jack came in and sat at the table next to her, so she added, “Both of you, if you’re really alright.“

Eric set the second omelet in front of Jack and turned back to make another.

“I know,” Jack said. “I know I should have talked to George, at least. But I just needed to make sure we were ok first. I couldn’t go do press when Bits hadn’t even talked to his parents yet.”

“Have you talked to them yet?” Alicia asked Eric. “I know they’ve been trying to reach you.”

“Well, since I forgot my phone …” he said.

“I can have Bob bring it this afternoon,” Alicia said.

“Oh,” Eric said. “I guess that would be alright. It’s not like I have to tell them anything they don’t already know. It’s just, what if it’s bad? What if they … they can’t really kick me out now, I guess, or they could, but I can stay at Jack’s.”

“You really think they would?” Alicia asked. “We can Skype them together, all of us, if that would help.”

“No, ma’am,” Eric said. “Not really. It’s just, I’ve been so scared of telling them for so long, and now they know, and I don’t know what it’s going to be like. My mother was my best friend. I don’t think she’ll disown me, but what if she doesn’t like me anymore? What if she’s mad with me for not telling her?”

“She’ll might be upset with you,” Alicia said, “but I’m sure she’s worried about you. And avoiding it isn’t going to make it go away, right?”

Eric turned pleading eyes to Jack, who took his hand and said, “Welcome to the family, bud, where Maman is always right. No one’s going to make you call, but you probably should. Just to find out.”

“If I was your mother, I’d want you to give me a chance,” Alicia said. She didn’t have to look at Jack to know they were both thinking of when she didn’t know if she’d ever get another chance with him.

Eric bit his lip, but he nodded, and his face took on a determined look.

“Jack, can I use your phone after breakfast?” he asked.

“Of course, bud,” Jack said. “When you’re done, I’ll face the music with George. I’ll probably have to go back tomorrow – at least for the day – but you can stay here.”

“Nope,” Eric said. “If you have to go, I’ll go too. We’re in this together, right?”

When the boys went upstairs to make their calls, Alicia texted Bob again.

_I think they’ll be just fine._


	11. Fear of Failure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Ransom Week

Ransom closed his laptop and put his head on the desk.

511\. On his MCATs.

It was good. He knew that. But not at the top. Not a guaranteed ticket to Harvard (where Shitty would be in law school) or Johns Hopkins or even fucking BU.

Combined with a bio degree from a good (but not great) program, even with a 4.0? He’d get into med school. He’d get into a good med school, even. But not one of the best.

He’d have to download new preliminary applications, try for different schools. He could do that.

But he was so tired. So fucking tired.

And next year he and Holster were going to be captains, would have to shoulder the responsibility of leading the team that Jack had carried the last three years. How did someone even do that? Captain a team for three years, and still finish school.

Now Jack was going to Providence (he wouldn’t get into Brown either), and the team would be in his hands. Well, his and Holster’s.

And it shouldn’t matter, because med school was supposed to be the beginning of the rest of his life. It was his long-term plan. Whatever happened, this would be his last season of competitive hockey.

But the team trusted him and Holster. Bitty, who had grown so much since he showed up at Faber hiding behind a pie and smile. Nursey and Dex, who had nothing like the compatibility he and Holster shared, but still managed to become the second line of D as freshmen, because they were more effective than anyone else. Chow, who maybe didn’t realize just how good he was. The scouts that had come for Jack would be in the stands for Chow next year.

He knew he didn’t have to be a doctor. There were jobs out there – jobs right here in the Boston area – that he could get with a bachelor’s degree in bio, especially emphasis in research. He might need more school to move forward, but a little work experience wouldn’t hurt. He might even get a company to pay for some of his tuition then.

But then he’d have to tell his parents. And his sisters. And Holster. And the rest of the team.

Lardo would understand. She was somehow making it work as an art major and hockey team manager despite the expectations of her very traditional parents He gave her all the respect in the world for standing up and convincing them that this was what she was meant to do.

Ransom was meant to be a doctor. Meant by his family, at least. Ransom had never really considered whether he wanted to be a doctor, whether he wanted four more years of ever more grueling work, before even taking on a residency, never having time to keep up with his friends or even play rat hockey late at night in community rinks.

His laptop was still closed, but his MCAT score was burned into his retinas. It was good. He could be a doctor, if he wanted. But it wasn’t the best, and it wouldn’t be easy. And he was so fucking tired.

He shoved his chair back and stood up, wanting to be out of the attic when Holster came back from his econ exam. His mind was 90 percent made up – at least – but it wasn’t something he wanted to talk about yet.

This was a time for Jack and Shitty to celebrate, a time for him and Holster to be around for Bitty, who almost seemed to be grieving their loss, a time for Holster to finish the semester strong. Holster took his academic career more seriously than anyone realized.

Ransom had one more exam, tomorrow morning. He’d go to the library to study, let Holster find him there later. He knew Holster would blame anything that seemed off on his coral reef tendencies.

The thing was, though, Ranson thought, he was breathing easier that he had in a long time.

 


	12. Dicky's on TV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After comic 3.26

“Dicky’s on TV.”

Coach heard Suzanne as he made his way into the kitchen to put his glass in the sink before heading upstairs.

Maybe now she would leave the boy alone and go to bed instead of texting him.

They caught several glimpses of Junior on TV tonight, smack in the middle of group of former Samwell teammates, people that Suzanne had met on family weekends and her trip to drop Junior off at the hockey house.

Everyone in the group was at least a year older than Junior, Suzanne said. Coach figured that made sense, since Jack Zimmermann had graduated after Junior’s sophomore year. Funny how Junior had ended up in a group of upperclassmen like that, but he seemed to have found a good group of friends. Coach had been worried about that when Junior decided to go to school so far away.

The three players also were at least half a head taller. The girl was smaller, although Suzanne said the team listened to her at least as much as they listened to Zimmermann when he was captain.

“Rick. Come in here.”

Suzanne wasn’t ready to pack it in just yet, apparently.

“Rick. Dicky – ”

“Did he get on the ice?” Coach said, figuring that Junior must be on the screen congratulating Zimmermann. Junior had told Suzanne that Zimmermann was his best friend not two weeks ago.

Well.

There was Junior, in living color, kissing his best friend like his life depended on it, the image beamed into the Bittle’s living room and living rooms all over the country – all over the world? – in real time.

In that moment, Coach felt his phone begin to buzz in his shirt pocket. Well, shit. Coach had been talking up hockey for months, to his players and their parents, to colleagues at the high school, to the guys in his fellowship group at church. And with the series going seven games, at a time of year when there was no football and baseball wasn’t interesting yet, and a local connection, well, probably more people in Madison were watching this game than had ever watched any other hockey game. And Junior picked tonight to plant one on Jack Zimmermann in front of God and everybody.

“Rick – Dicky and Jack – look,” Suzanne was fairly sputtering, too shocked to make a complete sentence. “It doesn’t look like that’s the first time they’ve done that.”

“No, Suze, it sure doesn’t,” Coach said. “Guess this explains why he wanted to stay with Jack.”

“But if they’re –” Suzanne started. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“Come on, Suzie,” Coach said. “You know people have been talking about Junior being that way for years, and going to Samwell didn’t exactly change anyone’s mind. We talked about this. Didn’t you say you just wanted him to be happy?”

“Of course I want him to be happy,” Suzanne said. “But I wouldn’t want him living with a girlfriend, either.”

“I think the horse is out of the barn on that one,” Coach said. “Didn’t they both live in that house for a year already? And Junior’s said he’s been to visit Jack in Providence before now. He’s 21 years old, Suze. Not much we can do about it, unless you’d want to cut off the tuition money.”

“No, of course not,” Suzanne said.

“Good,” Coach said. “Because if you did, I’d have to remind you how many nights we spent together before we got married.”

“I just – why didn’t he tell us, Rick? Why didn’t he tell me? He all but hung up on me last week.”

Coach shrugged.

“He was scared, maybe?” Coach said. He shrugged. “He knows a lot of people – a lot of people here – don’t approve of that particular lifestyle.”

“But why would he be afraid of me?” Suzanne said, her chin trembling. “He’s my son. I don’t care what anyone else thinks about him.”

“I know that,” Coach said.

“And I know you feel the same,” Suzanne said, but with a tone that challenged him to disagree.

“I do,” Coach confirmed. “But Suze, maybe you don’t hear the way the people talk. The way kids talk about gays. I’m in the high school every day and I hear it, zero-tolerance policy or no. Maybe he heard enough of it that …”

“That he thought we were like that too? No, Rick,” Suzanne said.

Coach considered his next words, because he felt his own failure keenly. Because it hurt Junior, yes, but now it was hurting Suzie as well.

“Maybe I should have been more clear,” he said. “Maybe I should have made sure he knew that I didn’t just stop the talk because it was against the rules, told him I didn’t agree with it.”

“Yes, you should’ve,” Suzanne said. “But I should have known too. I should have said something too.”

She glanced at her phone.

“He still hasn’t texted back.”

“I imagine he’s a bit busy just now,” Coach said. “Maybe call him tomorrow? I know I’m not gonna return any of these calls until tomorrow, maybe after you talk to him. Just so I know what to say to people.”

“Ok,” Suzanne said. “But I’m sending one more text.”

She typed in, _I love you and I’m proud of you. Call me._


	13. Inked on My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This a response to a prompt from[@straydog733](http://straydog733.tumblr.com/)! I hope you like it!_
> 
> Next chapter is Part II

This a response to a prompt from @straydog733! I hope you like it!

When Bitty pulled off his shirt, Jack felt his jaw literally drop.

There, inked over Bitty’ left pectoral, was the number 1. It was about an inch high, in deep Samwell red, with a thin border of the bright Falconer blue.

It was his number, its meaning unmistakable in those colors, permanently etched into Bitty’s skin just over his heart.

It was still new – even Jack, who had no tattoos, could tell that much. At the edges, the skin was a little puffy, and there was a sheen of some kind of ointment or lotion over it.

Jack dragged his eyes up to Bitty’s face, where Bitty was biting his lower lip and looking down.

“Maybe I should have asked you first,” he said, clearly interpreting Jack’s silence as disapproval. “But I’ve been thinking of getting a tattoo for a while, and I wanted to celebrate … well, us. At least it’s not your name or anything.”

He looked up at Jack, eyes going a bit shiny, and said, “I thought you’d be happy.”

Jack had to fix this. He stepped up closer to Bitty, tracing around – but not over – the tattoo with the forefinger of his right hand, and reached for Bitty’s hand with his left.

“No,” he said. “No, I am happy. Just surprised.”

“You don’t seem happy-surprised,” Bitty said.

“More surprised-surprised?” Jack offered. “I didn’t even know you wanted a tattoo. The last time you mentioned a tattoo, you said your mother would kill you.”

Bitty took a step back, and said, “Since then, I’ve come out to the whole world by kissing my boyfriend on national TV, and announced that I’m spending the summer living in sin with that boyfriend. I think at this point the tattoo is the least of it.”

“I know,” Jack said, sitting on the couch and tugging on Bitty’s hand to get him to sit next to him. “It’s just that, a tattoo is so permanent, you know? You’re only 21. You might not want a reminder of me on your body for rest of your life.”

“Don’t you dare tell me I’m too young,” Bitty said. “The state of Massachusetts would have allowed me to get a tattoo three years ago.”

“No,” Jack said, struggling to find the words to explain himself. He could see the hurt in Biity’s face, hear the question Bitty wasn’t asking – “Are you upset because you think we’re going to break up?” – but that wasn’t it at all. Well, sort of.

“I don’t mean you shouldn’t be able to get a tattoo if you want, and I’m honored that you chose my number,” Jack said, cringing at how awkward he sounded. “But it will be there for the rest of your life, and we haven’t talked about forever yet. And I was kind of holding off on that because I didn’t want to put any pressure on you.”

“Jack, honey,” Bitty said, using his thumb to caress the back of Jack’s hand, “listen to me. This is my tattoo, on my body. Yes,it’s about you, of course it is, and probably anyone watching y’all win the cup could figure that out. But it’s more about how I feel about you. And maybe in a few months or a year or two years, you’ll decide you’ve had enough of me, and that will hurt. But I’m not gonna regret this tattoo, because no matter what happens, you were the first man I loved, and the first man who loved me, and that’s always going to be a part of me, inside and out. I am sorry if the surprise wasn’t a good thing.”

“Bits, if we break up, you’re going to have to do the leaving,” Jack said. “It’s not that I don’t want to be with you forever. Or that I don’t want people to know I’m yours.”

Truth be told, seeing his number – the closest thing to a personal seal Jack had – set over Bitty’s heart lit a flame somewhere deep inside of Jack, in the place that wanted to shout to the world that Bitty was his and no one else’s.

“I want everybody to know,” Jack said. “And I love that you did that. It was just a surprise, and it made me think about what would happen if –”

He broke off. “We don’t need to talk about that. I can’t wait until it’s all healed. How long will it be?”

“The artist said two weeks, maybe a little more. I got it yesterday, so it should be all healed up by the time training starts. You’re sure you like it?”

Jack reached up to trace the outline of the number again, imagining running his tongue over the same lines once Bitty’s skin was unbroken. “I’m sure,” he said.

*************************************

The Falconers did not win the Stanley Cup the following year. They didn’t even make it out of the second round, which Jack once would have found to be demoralizing and yet another piece of evidence that he’d never be the player his father was.

But coming off a Cup win helped, he found. So did Samwell’s – Bitty’s – victory at the Frozen Four. And the playoff loss had one silver lining: Jack was now free to attend Bitty’s graduation. He could be there when Bitty kissed the ice at Faber, and watch Bitty walk across the stage, and spring for a graduation dinner for all of Bitty’s friends and family. And then he could bring Bitty home to Providence and spend the next couple of weeks with him, doing nothing unless they both wanted to. Jack could see plenty of morning jogs, farmers markets and lazy afternoons in bed in his future – at least until it was time to start training again in earnest.

He knew Bitty’s parents were getting him a car for graduation – Suzanne had turned out to be a cheerful presence in Jack’s life once she got over her shock and hurt, although she had firmly declined Jack’s offer to help pay for the car, even surreptitiously.

But that left Jack without much of an idea of what to get Bitty. He finally settled on a leather messenger bag, something Bitty could take to the new job he would start in July. It was a suitable gift, according to Maman, something that anyone would be pleased to receive. Then inspiration struck, and he found himself calling Chowder, getting him to check the size and model of Bitty’s figure skates. Bitty had been complaining that they were worn out, but he couldn’t justify the expense of replacing them with his limited time for figure skating.

With two gifts for Bitty to open at his graduation dinner, Jack felt better prepared, but something was missing. Neither gift was terribly personal, despite the engraving of Bitty’s initials on the bag and the effort Jack went to to get the right skates.

A week before graduation, Bitty finished his last final, celebrated by making pie for the Haus, and took the train to Providence. After he fell asleep that night, Jack lay awake, watching the way the light from the window made Bitty’s skin look silver. Once again, he ghosted his fingers over the 1 tattooed on Bitty’s chest. It had been most of a year, and that mark now seemed like it had always been there, as much a part of Bitty as his blond hair or gentle drawl. It had become a favorite spot of Jack’s, a place to lavish kisses and to nibble and sometimes just to rest his head and feel Bitty’s strong heartbeat. The anxiety he’d felt when he saw it the first time seemed so distant as to have been an unpleasant dream.

That was when Jack knew what he would do. It wasn’t a graduation present for Bitty so much as it was for him – he knew that – but it was an acknowledgement that after two years, he could have this. He knew he could have this, and he was easy in that knowledge. He’d graduated and moved away, he’d played hockey and won (and lost), Bitty had played hockey and won, they had come out in the most public of ways, and now Bitty was graduating, and he was still here. They were still together, with plenty of challenges and adventures yet to come, but they could do this.

He wasn’t going to buy Bitty a ring (who was he kidding? There had been a ring in its box at the very back corner of the top shelf in Jack’s closet for six months. But not for graduation. Bitty should have all the focus on him for that). But he could do something that only Bitty would see. Well, only Bitty and his whole team, once training started again. And the world, if he ever agreed to a shirtless photo shoot. But for now, only Bitty.

The next day, when Bitty was showering, Jack called Nursey. “Do you know where Bitty got his tattoo last summer?” he asked without preamble.

Nursey, in fact, did know, because he had recommended the shop and the artist.

“You getting some ink too?” he asked.

“No comment,” Jack said, in a parody of his media voice.

Nursey was silent for a moment, then laughed. “Sure thing, bro,” he said. “Not my business anyway. I was going to tell you to drop my name, maybe he’d get you in sooner, but dropping some extra cash would probably work better.”

In the end, Jack dropped both Nursey’s name and an extra $200 as a “rush fee” and was ushered into the artist’s cubicle two hours after he dropped Bitty at the Haus the next day to begin preparing for the graduation festivities.

He brought with him a photograph of the pie Bitty made for Atley’s class. Not the one Jack made; Bitty’s was better.

“Can you do something like this?” Jack asked. “Maybe two inches wide? Right here?”

Lee agreed, named a price, and told Jack to come back the next day when the stencil would be ready.

When Lee got to work, Jack found that he wasn’t exactly surprised by the pain – a needle jabbing him and injecting ink over and over again was bound to hurt – but it was hard to keep still until it was done. Lee carefully bandaged it and gave him his instructions on caring for it. “Come on back in a couple of weeks so I can take a look at it,” he said. “If we need to do touch-ups, they’re included in the price, but we probably won’t if you don’t pick at it too much.”

Jack nodded, glad that he wouldn’t see Bitty again until the next evening, when most of the oozing should be done.

When Jack walked into the Haus the next day, Bitty was in the kitchen, regaling some of the tadpoles with tales from his own frog year. He darted to Jack to embrace him, and clearly noticed Jack flinch when he collided with his chest.

“You all right, sweet pea?” he asked.

“Perfect,” Jack said. “But I have something to show you when you’ve got a minute.”


	14. Inked on My Heart, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _In which Jack explains himself, and Bitty uses really bad lines. Follows Part 1 directly._

>Once Bitty put his glass in the sink and rinsed it, and then dried his hands hands, he followed Jack upstairs to his room.

“What have you got that you can’t show me in the kitchen?” Bitty asked with a smirk. “Is this going to be you show me yours and I’ll show you mine?”

“If it is, this is most delayed play ever,” Jack said, pulling Bitty into his bedroom and closing the door behind them.

“Okay?” Bitty said, “I’m not sure what you mean, but I’m game.”

He sat on his bed and looked at Jack expectantly.

“Go on,” he said. “Whatever it is, show me.”

“Euh,” Jack said, feeling a little awkward all of the sudden. Had he built this up too much? It was only a little tattoo, an image of the lattice-topped apple pie Bitty had made, working side-by-side with Jack in the Haus kitchen on a sunny day in the fall of 2014. That was the day he had to remind himself not to brush the flour off Bitty’s cheekbone, up near his eye; the day he understood that he would happily make this pie over and over if he got to do it with Bitty. It was not the day he realized Bitty was beautiful; that had happened months before. But it was the day he first realized that it might be worth it to tell him so.

Bitty was still looking at him, a little concerned now.

“Okay,” Jack said. And he pulled his T-shirt over his head and dropped it at his feet.

When he looked up, Bitty was still seated, reaching toward Jack’s chest, but not touching. His other hand had come up to cover his own mouth.

Finally, he dropped his hand, huffed something like a laugh, and said, “A pie, Jack? Really?”

But his were just a bit shiny, and he was fighting a smile.

“You showed me yours, so I showed you mine?” Jack said. “I wanted to have part of you with me, all the time, even when you’re at work, or I’m on the road.”

“But a tattoo? When we talked about it that time, you said you didn’t think you’d ever get one.”

“Bits, that was like two years ago, months before you got yours,” Jack said. “And now I can’t imagine you without it. And I like it. I like knowing you’ve got me with you all the time. And I wanted the same thing.”

Bitty was standing now, ghosting his fingers over the tattoo, careful not to touch.

“Why a pie, though?” he asked. “Why not my number? We spent our first two years together playing hockey.”

“I know,” Jack said. “And I loved every minute of it.”

At Bitty’s disbelieving look, he added, “Once I got my head out of my ass.”

“In your defense, it’s a lovely ass,” Bitty said.

“The point is,” Jack continued, “that I play – have played – hockey with a lot of people. You’re the first one to show up with pie for the meet-and-greet to start the season. And then you just kept making pie. No matter how much I complained about it.”

“That’s okay,” Bitty said. “You were distracted by having your head up your ass.”

“But over time, you taught me that it was okay to have a little something sweet in my life,” Jack plowed on.

“And pie, too,” Bitty interjected, unable to stop the grin that blossomed on his face.

“And then you even taught me to make pie,” Jack said. “You’ve taught me so much.”

Bitty stretched up onto his tiptoes to kiss Jack, carefully avoiding putting any pressure on the left side of Jack’s chest.

When he subsided, Jack went on. “This isn’t just any pie,” he said. “This is the pie that you made for Atley’s assignment. Because that was the day you taught me to roll out a crust and weave a lattice.”

“You know, you’re pretty sweet yourself.” Bitty said, reaching up to kiss Jack again.

Bitty looked around the room, mostly packed up and ready for him to leave once he graduated in two days.

“This kind of reminds me of our first kiss,” he said. “When I was in your old room.”

Jack pressed his lips to Bitty’s forehead, then his temple. “You were crying,” he said. “I’m sorry it took me so long. I’m sorry I made you sad.”

“Hush, you,” Bitty said. “Things happen the way they’re supposed to, right? And it’s good thing you got your head out of that delightful ass eventually. Otherwise, there’d be no room for my head there.”


	15. Cleaning Up the Trash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous prompt: Since you asked for Zimbits prompts… Jack rescuing Bitty from a creep at a party? (Love your fic btw!)_
> 
> This chapter does feature an overly aggressive creep.

Bitty put the glass of pinot grigio he was holding on the the stand next to the buffet table, and turned toward the door.

The door that led to the hallway with the restrooms, and, further down, the lobby and the exit. He could step into the men’s room, summon a car, and make a break for the door just as it arrived.

“I’m sure you’ll excuse me for just a moment,” he said. “I need to …” he gave a half-shrug that was meant to indicate that he didn’t want to be so crass as to refer to the idea that he needed to pee “… but I’ll be right back.”

“Need to use the pisser?” the man – Greg – asked. “I’ll be waiting.”

Bitty hoped that Greg thought his quick step away was because of his bladder, not the alarm bells ringing in his head.

As soon as the men’s room door closed behind him, Bitty’s phone was in his hand. There was a car four minutes away. That would work. Four minutes wasn’t too long to spend in the bathroom, right?

He was overreacting. Of course he was. Greg hadn’t said or done anything explicitly threatening. He was just … a bit much.

Maybe Bitty would just have to get used to it. He wanted to date, but he hadn’t met anyone here in Providence. He’d moved here after graduating with plans to date around for a while, meet the perfect guy, move in together and decorate the perfect apartment, live a life of blissful domesticity … But all of that was predicated on getting some dates. A date, even.

What really happened was that he went to work with an office full of wonderful people, single women and married women (one of them married to another woman) and a couple of married men. Every couple of weeks, he went out with them for drinks after work.

To meet people, he started playing late-night rat hockey, and after a couple of weeks, got asked to play on a higher-level rec league team. His teammates were nice, great guys even, but all of them were straight.

On his other nights, he baked, he recorded segments for his vlog, he worked on making his crappy studio as close to the perfect apartment as he could. And he worried over getting a date.

He could go to a club; he’d looked up gay clubs in Providence on Google and there seemed to be plenty. He could look on Tinder, or even Grindr, but he wanted more than a hook-up … and maybe it was the Georgia in him, but the idea of sex, or even heavy-duty making out, with someone he didn’t know made him throw up in his mouth a little. Not that it was gross or disgusting; just, how could you know the guy wasn’t dangerous, wasn’t the sort who would pick you up and force you into a locker for being gay?

Yes, they were supposedly into men too, he knew that. But didn’t serial killers pick people up online?

Then when Celia said she had a ticket for a fundraiser but couldn’t make it, and it would be really good to have someone from the office there, Eric couldn’t think of a good reason not to go. It was for a group dedicated to cleaning up the river system in Providence, so it would probably be attended by people with generally liberal leanings. Maybe he could meet a new friend or two, if nothing else, and maybe they could introduce him to their friends, and maybe … that was how his parents told him to meet people.

“Ask your friends if they know any single girls they could introduce you to,” Mama said.

“That’s how I met your mother,” Coach said. “My roommate was dating her roommate, and he asked if I wanted a really cute date.”

Then Coach winked at Mama and … no.

When he got to the event – a dinner with a silent auction and the world’s most boring speaker – Bitty had done his job, circulating among the attendees, introducing himself with a handshake and a smile, chatting about how the people who worked for Celia’s small public relations agency really liked working for companies and organizations whose causes they believed in. He’d just about finished the circuit of the room when he encountered Greg, big and beefy, like a college athlete who had gone to seed in the few years since he graduated.

Bitty had originally pegged Greg to be in his mid-30s, a solid dozen years older than him, but as soon as Greg turned the conversation personal, Bitty learned that he wouldn’t turn 30 for a couple more months.

And he turned the conversation personal almost right away.

“Eric, is it?” he asked, eyes on on Bitty’s nametag as his right hand swallowed Bitty’s. “You’re new around here, aren’t you? I’d remember if I’d seen you at one of these things before.”

Greg proceeded to ask all kinds of questions that were just this side of too prying – questions that would have been perfectly appropriate or a first date: Where was he from? Where did he go to school? He played hockey? Really? What did he study? How old was he anyway? Was he dating anyone? Did he have any friends in Providence?

Bitty went along, because none of it was the kind of information that seemed dangerous to share, and Greg was offering tidbits about himself as well. He was 29, a former college football player (or course) and worked for a sanitation company looking to build a reputation for caring about the environment.

Bitty was a bit unclear as to whether Greg’s company actually cared at all about the environment or just wanted people to think it did, but that was something Shaw and Marcus could help with, and maybe Bitty could actually land a new account, and so he stayed longer in a conversation that was making him uncomfortable than he should have.

By the time dinner was announced, Bitty was thanking the river gods that tables were assigned, and Greg had already established that they were not at the same one.

“I’m sure I could get someone to trade so you can sit with me,” Greg said.

“No, that’s okay,” Bitty said. “Really. I’m here to mingle and meet people, so I can talk to the people at my table.”

“But you’ve already met me,” Greg said. “What more do you need?”

Greg clapped him on the back and Bitty gave a weak laugh and made it through the door to the banquet room, finding table 4 up in front. Well. Celia was kind of big deal in these circles, he thought.

He’d been in such a hurry to get away that there was only one other person at the table, and Bitty kicked himself for thinking he wished he’d been trapped with this guy instead of meathead Greg. Really, what was wrong with Greg? A little socially incompetent, maybe, but he hadn’t actually done anything threatening.

This guy, though, well. He was a feast for the eyes. Dark glossy hair, a jawline that could cut glass, eyes like the clear blue depths of an arctic lake. Get a grip, he told himself. Then the guy stood up, and the dark suit wrapped around his body did nothing to disguise the breadth of his shoulders, the firmness of his torso – and the flex of his posterior when he leaned across the table to shake Bitty’s hand. Well.

“Jack Zimmermann,” the guy was saying, while Bitty told his eyes to stay on the guy’s face.

“Uh, Eric Bittle,” Eric said. “Wait … Jack … Falconers?”

Despite being flustered, Bitty didn’t miss the shy duck of Jack’s head, or the adorable little smile on his face when he looked back up. Christ on a cracker, he’d watched Falconers games, even gotten a ticket to one from Celia once, but he never would have imagined that Jack Zimmermann cleaned up like this. Usually Jack’s face was a mask of determination: to score, to stop the other team from scoring, or to get out of an interview as quickly as humanly possible.

“I didn’t see you out there,” Bitty said stupidly, tilting his head towards the lobby where the cocktail reception was held.

“I got here a little late,” Jack asked.

Before Bitty could ask what Jack was doing here, their tablemates arrived, and Bitty found himself separated from Jack by an elderly couple who spent the meal telling stories of anti-nuke protests in the ‘70s. Bitty tried to at least appear interested, but he didn’t think Jack actually said another word for the entire dinner.

When the meal was over and the speaker was through droning, Bitty got up, hoping to make his way around the table, to take his leave from Jack (hoping Jack would engage him in more conversation).

Before he could move from his seat, a heavy arm fell across his shoulders. It didn’t make his knees buckle like it would have before he played four years of NCAA hockey, but he knew he flinched anyway.

“Eric,” Greg boomed. “You haven’t finished your wine.”

Greg was handing him his wine glass, and Eric was taking it so it wouldn’t tumble to the floor, and then Greg was steering him towards the back of the room, grip firm on Bitty’s shoulder.

“Drink up,” Greg said, quietly now. “Then we can head to mine for a nightcap. Get to know each other better. See if you hockey players live up to your reputation for stick handling.”

“I really don’t –”

“Come on,” Greg said. “I know I didn’t read it wrong. You like guys. And you don’t have a boyfriend. Why not?”

“But I don’t know you,” Bitty said.

“But you will,” Greg said. “Almost done?”

Yeah. That was kind of what Bitty was afraid of. He went to take a sip of his wine to stall for time, then thought better of it. More alcohol would not improve the situation. That was when he decided to make a break for the restroom.

He checked his phone. The car was less than a minute away. Time to make a break for it.

Bitty opened the door a crack, trying to see if Greg was in the corridor. He wasn’t in the sliver that Bitty could see, so he pulled the door further and slipped through, keeping his eyes on the prize: the lobby exit.

He was almost there when he felt the weight of a hand come down on his shoulder. Again.

“Where’re you going?” Greg said. “I was waiting for you.”

Bitty steeled his nerve and turned toward Greg. He shouldn’t be afraid. Greg might be twice his weight, but Bitty was clearly in better shape. He could outrun him if he had to. He drew himself up to his full height, all five feet seven and a half inches, and said, “Listen, Greg, it was nice meeting you, but I’m leaving now.”

Greg did not remove his hand from Bitty’s shoulder.

“But we were going to –”

“Eric?”

Bitty looked to the side and saw Jack Zimmermann approaching. Great. Here he was, face probably red as a tomato, looking like – what? Like he knew this oaf?

“Did I hear somebody say you played hockey?” Jack said, like Greg wasn’t even there. “You said you went to Samwell, right? They have a pretty good team. What position did you play?”

“Right wing,” Eric said, turning his head towards Jack, pretending he wasn’t pinned in place by Greg’s hand. “Could you imagine me playing D?”

Jack shrugged. “Guys your size are usually pretty fast,” he said. “Speed makes up for a lot.”

Greg finally dropped his hand from Bitty’s shoulder to extend it to Jack, trying to edge his way between them in the process.

“Greg Meyer,” he said.

Jack continued to ignore him.

“Do you have a ride home?” Jack asked Bitty.

Bitty checked his phone. His ride had given up and left, or taken someone else.

“Looks like I have to order a ride,” he said.

“I can drive you,” Jack said. “If you want. Or I can wait for your ride with you.”

“If you can give me a ride, that would be great,” Bitty said, deciding to trust the feeling that said Jack would be safe to be with.

“Good,” Jack said, and Bitty saw the shy smile again.

“Nice to meet you, Greg,” Jack said over his shoulder as they walked away.

At Bitty’s look, Jack shrugged.

“Always good to be polite,” he said. “Besides, now he knows that I’d recognize him.”

 


	16. French Lessons, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From an anonymous prompt: For the prompt: Bitty wants to learn French so he can propose to Jack/for some other romantic reason. Bad Bob helps.
> 
> The next chapter is Part 2.

If Bob was surprised when he picked up his phone and saw the 706 area code, he tried to keep it out of his voice. He’d told Eric repeatedly that he could call any time, for any reason. Bob would be happy to help him practice for a job interview, or listen to him wax poetic about the joys of various kinds of pastry, or even advance a small (or larger … Bob was a generous man) loan.

Part of it was that Bob would do anything for the person who made Jack smile again, smile in a way Bob hadn’t seen since well before the draft, before juniors even. It lit Jack’s face with simple joy, the kind Bob saw when Jack was five and dancing in the kitchen with his mother, or seven and scoring a goal on one of his hockey uncles when he was invited to play shinny with the grownups.

But it was also because Jack had told Bob some of Bitty’s history, and Bob could guess at more. Bob met Suzanne at the first parents’ weekend where he encountered Eric, back when Eric was more likely to draw a scowl than a smile from Jack. But despite the boys playing together for two years, and despite all the time Jack (and by extension, Bob and Alicia) had spent with Eric over the two years after that, Bob had never met Eric’s father until graduation.

The man had been … well, telling a former professional athlete to call him “Coach” just seemed a little strange. And relations between father and son had seemed … friendly, but strained, nearly a year after Jack and Eric had kissed on live TV and set off a firestorm of praise and criticism. It wasn’t the way Bob would have done it, but he had to admit the boys had style.

Despite Bob’s eagerness to give Eric any support he needed, Eric usually only called – or, more often texted – to settle the details of pre-existing plans or to pass along messages from or about Jack.

But now Jack was on a roadie – playing on Bob’s TV right now – and there were no plans for a visit that Bob knew of.

He stopped himself from answering the phone by saying, “At your service,” but just barely. He might have known Eric for going on five years now, but Eric still didn’t seem comfortable with the over-the-top goofiness that got Jack to laugh.

“Hello? Eric?” he said instead. “Everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine,” Eric said. “Uh, Jack’s having a good game in Winnipeg, even if it is preseason.”

“He is,” Bob agreed. “I’m watching it.”

“Everything okay in Montreal?” Eric said after a pause. “How’s Alicia doing?”

“She’s fine,” Bob said. “She left for a board meeting in New York yesterday, but she’ll be back tomorrow. She was getting together with some friends tonight.”

Another pause.

“Was there something I could do for you, Eric?”

“Uh … yeah?” Eric said. “Just … just listen to this. _View-two me-poosay?”_

Bob hoped Eric didn’t hear the way his breath caught when his brain finally interpreted the meaning behind the words.

“Euh, if I’m not mistaken, son, you just asked me to marry you?” Bob said when he recovered. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m a married man.”

“Ha ha,” Eric said flatly. “I don’t want to ask you to marry me. I want to ask Jack. We’ve known each other five years, been together for three … and if I don’t do it soon, he’ll beat me to it.”

“And you want to get in first? What’s your plan?”

“Next weekend,” Bitty said. “It’s Canadian Thanksgiving.”

“ _Le jour de l'Action de grâce,_ yes,” Bob said.

“And since we can’t make it to Montreal this year because of Jack’s schedule, I was going to make a whole dinner – turkey and sweet potatoes, but also a _tourtière_ , and _tarte au sucre_ instead of pumpkin pie. But to go with the theme, I wanted to do it in French, but it’s been a few years, and I was never very good in the first place, and I know my pronunciation is awful so … help?”

“Why, yes, Eric, of course you have my permission to ask for my son’s hand in marriage,” Bob said.

That got a giggle, at least.

“With all due respect, sir, I was going to ask Alicia,” Eric said.

Bob nodded, then realized Eric couldn’t see that.

“Probably a good plan,” he said.

“But can you help me with the French?”

“ _Mais ouais_ ,” Bob said. “If you want to go simple and classic, the phrase you want is _‘Veux-tu m’épouser?’”_

“Say that again?”

_“Veux-tu m’épouser?”_

Eric tried again, correcting the initial sound on _épouser_ , and getting the _tu_ sound better. The _veux_ still needed work.

Eric could hear it, too.

“This isn’t gonna work, is it?” he said. “I don’t want him to laugh at me.”

“I think I can safely promise that he won’t,” Bob said. “And I’m sure he’ll understand you. Of course, if you want to extend your theme, you could go full Canadian and say, _‘Ma chère poutine, tu est meilleur que la queue de castor… être la mienne?’”_

“I heard ‘poutine’ in there. No. Just no.”

“Or _‘Veux-tu être ma bernache?’”_

“Do I even want to know what that means?”

”It means, ‘Do you want to be my goose?’” Bob said.

“That has possibilities, but no,” Eric said.

“Tell you what,” Bob said. “I’ll record myself saying ‘ _Veux-tu m’épouser?’_ and send it to you. Then you can practice. And you can try it out for me in person.”

“In person? When?”

“Before Thanksgiving dinner, _ben sûr_ ,” Bob said. “If you can’t come to us, we’ll come to you. We wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Veux-tu m’epouser?_ = Will you marry me?
> 
>  _Ma chère poutine, tu est meilleur que la queue de castor… être la mienne?_ =My dear poutine, you’re better than a beaver tail … Be mine?


	17. French Lessons, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continues the story from the previous chapter.

“Bits, what are my parents doing here?”

Jack looked down at the screen of his phone, after ending the call with the doorman.

“We didn’t make plans with them, did we?”

“Um, yes, actually,” Bitty said, still peeling potatoes. “Didn’t I tell you? I talked to your dad when you were in Winnipeg, and mentioned that we were doing Thanksgiving, and he said he and your mom would like to come. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, I don’t mind but – wait, you talked to my dad? Did he call you or –”

“Hello, and happy Thanksgiving!” Alicia was stepping through the door, arms already extended to embrace Jack. Bob was following with a cooler bag with wine. There was also a bottle of champagne, but Jack wasn’t to see that. Yet.

“How’re you boys doing?” Alicia said, deftly stepping into the living room and bringing Jack’s attention with her so Bob could stow the wine (and champagne) in the kitchen. “Jack, did I tell you about the work the foundation is doing to bring hockey to underserved communities in the greater New York area? We’re starting with street hockey there, but …”

In the kitchen, Bitty put the last of the potatoes in the colander to rinse before putting them on to boil.

“Everything under control?” Bob said. “It’s a go?”

Bitty nodded. “The turkey’s cooking already, and I have a pan of stuffing to slide in for the last 45 minutes,” he said. “Once I get these on the stove, I have to roll out the dough for the _tourtière_ – can you grab it from the fridge? Bottom shelf on the right – and fill it and put it in. to bake. Rolls are rising, pies are done, green beans and salad and gravy get done once the the turkey comes out. This is really so easy with a double oven.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Bob said. “We all have confidence in your ability to get a stunning dinner on the table. Are you going to pop the question?”

Bitty wiped his hands on his apron before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a blue velvet ring box. “When I serve dessert,” he said.

“Want to try it out?”

“Sure,” Bitty said. “ _Ve–_ ”

“Bits –” Jack was coming around the corner. “Try what?”

“Your dad saw a recipe for pumpkin squares,” Bitty said. “But not today, because dessert is done. Maybe next time.”

Bob, now behind Jack, was mouthing at Bitty, “Pumpkin squares?”

“Papa doesn’t like pumpkin,” Jack said, an adorable furrow in his brow. Lord, Bitty was gone on him, “Do you, Papa?”

“If anyone could make me like it, it would be Eric,” Bob said with a shrug.

“Oh,” Jack said. “Maman wanted a glass of wine.”

Bob reached into the fridge and brought out a bottle of sauvignon blanc. He poured a glass and handed it to Jack. “One for you, too?”

“No, thanks,” Jack said. “I’ll have one with dinner. Bits might want one, though.”

“Eric?”

“Sure, Bob. Thanks. Jack, honey, after you take that to your mother, could you see if you can find the rust colored napkins in the linen closet? They weren’t in the drawer in here.”

“But we have napkins on the table already.”

“I know, but those are just placeholders until I find the rust ones. Please?” Bitty said.

“Only to make you happy,” Jack said with a faux grumble before leaving to deliver his mother’s wine.

“Okay, we’ve got a minute or two before he finds the napkins,” Bob said.

“Longer than that,” Bitty said. “They don’t exist. We always use white. Now here goes. _Veux-tu m’épouser?”_

He almost had a heart attack when he realized there was someone in the doorway, but it was Alicia, holding her wine.

“Did you just ask my husband to marry you?” she said, laughing. “I thought it was my son you wanted. You can’t have Bob. He’s mine.”

“Hush, you,” Bitty said. “Of course it’s your son I want. How did I do?”

“Great,” Bob said. “I promise he won’t laugh.”

“You mean that?”

“I mean that, yes, I can still hear your accent, but it’s better than most Americans do, so stop worrying.”

Once dinner was over and Bob and Jack had cleared the table and Alicia made coffee – regular and decaf – they gathered in the living room with the pies – a _tarte au sucre_ and an apple – on the coffee table.

“We never said what we were thankful for,” Jack said. “Let’s do it before dessert.”

“Good idea,” Bitty said. “Let me start. Since this is Thanksgiving in Canada, let me say how thankful I am for the custom of having Thanksgiving on a Monday, with two whole days to prepare. I’m also thankful that y’all introduced me to a new cuisine, and a new culture, even if I didn’t do so well learning French. I’ve been working hard and I did learn one thing.”

He turned to face Jack fully and pulled the ring box out of his pocket.

“Jack, _veux-tu m’épouser?”_

Jack stared, mouth open, then started to giggle. His giggle turned into a laugh, until he saw the way Bitty’s face had fallen.

“Non, _lapinou,_ ” he said. “I wasn’t laughing at you. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Bitty started to look up at that.

“Was it that bad?” he said.

“Bad? Was what bad?” Jack asked. “I really wasn’t laughing at you.”

He pulled a ring box from his pocket.

“It’s just, I was going to ask you when it was my turn to talk.”


	18. Chance Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on a prompt from [@thisladylovesmilktray](https://thisladylovesmilktray.tumblr.com/) for a meeting in the middle of the night, and on my experience flying through O’Hare yesterday. It’s assuming they would have had a spring break after they got knocked out of the playoffs in Year 1
> 
> https://thisladylovesmilktray.tumblr.com/

“Where’s the fire, sweetheart?”

Jack turned at the honey-dipped voice, the drawl he usually heard in the Haus kitchen or the dressing room at Faber, scanning for the blond head, already pitying who ever he was talking to in that tone of voice. “Bless your heart” was coming next. Jack knew it.

Then he registered that the voice didn’t come from Bittle-height. It came from somewhere around … somewhere around the level of the man in the wheelchair that Jack had almost knocked over in his hurry to get to his gate.

Bittle clocked Jack just as Jack recognized him.

“Jack! What are you doing here?” he asked. “And why are you in such a hurry?”

To the airport worker pushing the wheelchair, Bittle said, “Can you hold up just a minute? We’ve got a little time, right?”

“Just a little,” the worker said.

“Oh, come on, you radioed that we were on our way,” Bittle said. “They’re not gonna leave without me, now, will they? There’s more cookies in my bag if that would help.”

“Me?” Jack said. “What are you doing in Chicago? And in a wheelchair?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise,” Bittle said.

Jack’s gaze followed Bittle’s down to where his leg, in an air cast, was stretched in front of him. A pair of aluminum crutches were tucked next to him.

“It just takes too long to get through an airport O’Hare without help,” Bittle said.

“But Bittle – when you went home for break you had a concussion, but your leg was fine. What happened?”

“I may have torn a ligament when I had a bad fall on the ice. I already had surgery – that’s why I didn’t get back two days ago like I planned. Then the only flight I could get routed me through Chicago, of all places, with a connection to the last flight to Boston.”

“Bad fall … you were skating? You’re not supposed to be skating yet. No contact.”

“Not hockey, figure skating,” Bitty said.

Jack just looked at him.

“So maybe I was pushing it a bit,” Bittle said. “But I was so bored. And so tired of doing nothing.”

“Sir?” the worker said.

“Fine,” Bittle said. “Our flight to Boston started boarding five minutes ago. I have to go. See you back at the Haus?”

“Wait … on American? I think I’m on the same flight. I can walk with you.”

“Onward then,” Bittle said, pointing directly ahead,

The worker pushed and Jack walked, wondering if he was imagining that Bittle was a little loopy. A little more loopy than usual?

“Bittle? How’s your head?”

“I still have the worst headache,” Bittle said. “And they won’t give me anything but Tylenol or Advil. But it should get better.”

“A fall hard enough to tear up your knee can’t have helped.”

“It wasn’t even that hard,” Bittle said. “It was more my legs got tangled up. But I should be good as new by the time the season starts, don’t you worry.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Jack said. “I’m worried about your head. And your knee.”

After he said it, he realized it was true. Which was strange. Bittle was a teammate; he should worry about the effect of his injury on the team.

“Anyways, why are you here?” Bittle asked. “Didn’t classes start yesterday?”

“Yes, but my dad wanted me to meet with the Blackhawks.”

Bittle raised an eyebrow.

“That explains the snazzy suit then. How did it go?”

“Fine,” Jack said. “I mean, they were polite and I was polite but I think we agreed I wasn’t a good fit.”

In reality, the guys Jack met with told him they’d be interested, but only if he was willing to leave school and play next year, since he was already old for a rookie. Jack said he was committed to playing his senior season, and that was more or less the end of the conversation.

Bittle nodded. “Sometimes knowing what you don’t want is as important as knowing what you do.”

“Yeah?” Jack said. “You know what you want, Bittle?”

“I have ideas,” Bittle said. “The hard part is when you know what you want, but you also know it’s impossible to get.”

Jack nodded as they got to the gate, where the last few passengers were boarding.

“But you shouldn’t give up,” he said. “Keep trying.”

Bittle was fussing with his phone, then handing it to the gate agent.

“Looks like they’ve bumped you to business class because of that leg,” the agent said. “Do you need the wheelchair to get on the plane?”

“No, thanks,” he said. “I can use the crutches.”

“I’m in business, too,” Jack said, pulling a paper boarding pass from his jacket pocket. “I can help.”

Bittle turned back to Jack.

“Sometimes it’s worse to keep trying,” he said. “Because what I want … it’s not up to me. And I don’t want to just keep wanting forever.”

“Who is it up to, then?”Jack asked, as Bittle swung on his crutches down the jetway.

“Someone who doesn’t want the same things I do,” Bittle said. “Here, can you put my bag up?”

Jack swung Bittle’s bag into overhead bin, watched him settle into his seat, and then gave his crutches to the flight attendant to stow in the forward closet.

The woman in the seat across from Bittle cleared his throat.

“I can switch seats with you if you want to be near your friend,” she said.

Jack looked up – the last empty seat in business was on the aisle two rows back.

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” he said.

“Not at all,” the woman said, gathering her handbag and her book.

“Y’all don’t have to sit here,” Bittle said. “I’m sure you want to sleep or something, and I’ll just talk your ear off.”

“Better me than some stranger,” Jack said. “Besides, I like listening to you. Got your back, Bittle.”


	19. Building a Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I got this first line from a random prompt generator: “As he flicked through the letters, a small, handwritten envelope caught his attention and his heart began to thump.” Warning that it begins after Jack and Bitty have broken up. Hopeful ending._

As he flicked through the letters, a small, handwritten envelope caught his attention and his heart began to thump.

Jack would recognize that scrawl anywhere. It was the handwriting that covered dozens of sticky notes: on a bag of cookies tucked into his duffel bag, on hundreds of sandwiches he ate before games, on the bathroom mirror on days that Bitty – that Eric – had to leave before Jack got up.

It was the handwriting on the letter – not on a sticky note this time – Jack found after Bitty left.

The letter had been centered at the place at the head of the dining room table. It was a modern thing, all glass and steel, and it went well with the condo Jack bought in Vegas.

The paper had looked out of place, off-white linen stationery that Jack knew Bitty’s – Eric’s – mother had given him when he told her he wasn’t moving back to Georgia, not after graduation, not ever.

“She said she expects me to write her real letters every now and then,” Bitty – he had been Bitty then in Jack’s mind, and he wasn’t here to argue about it, so Jack would remember him as Bitty if he wanted – Bitty said. “She still wants to text and call and Skype, but she says sometimes it’s easier to share your real feelings by writing them down on paper.”

At the time, thinking of the way Bitty inscribed his love in each one of those sticky notes, Jack had agreed. He never saw that paper again, until the one sheet was centered at his place at the dining room table.

Most people thought the kiss at center ice after the Falconers won the cup was a big moment in their relationship. It was, in a way. That was the moment that he and Eric declared to the world that they were a couple. He’d braced himself for the backlash, told himself he could withstand anything for Eric.

The joke was on him. Sure, not everybody was happy. But the team and the league and his agent made it so he never had to see the worst of it. The refs even started calling the anti-gay slurs that they had let go before; he lived in a well-insulated, comfortable, well-paid bubble.

But that was the start. A month later, Eric was asked not to come back to the bakery where he’d talked himself into a job, half marketing and half baking. She loved him, the owner said, and he was doing great, but his status as the man who kissed Jack Zimmermann on TV was drawing too much of the wrong kind of attention. She offered to pay him for the rest of the summer, but asked him not to come in.

Eric had been sad, but Jack tried to comfort him by saying that they could spend more time together before school and their respective seasons started. Eric gave him a weak smile, and agreed, and Jack had tried to make sure he had a good time for the rest of the summer.

It had seemed a foregone conclusion that Eric would move in when he graduated. Jack didn’t remember them ever talking about it, beyond the logistics of how and when Eric would get his stuff to Providence.

When Eric took up residence, Jack breathed a sigh of relief. Now things were settled, and he could concentrate on hockey. Eric started attending games with the wives and girlfriends, started introducing himself as Eric instead of Bitty, made sure Jack’s life ran as smoothly as possible. Everyone loved him, Jack most of all.

But when they didn’t even make it to the playoffs that year, two years after winning it all, the organization started talking about making changes.

Jack had a year left on his contract, and he was costing the team a lot of money, and maybe he had just finished his third year, but 30 was looming. He wasn’t exactly expecting it, but he wasn’t exactly shocked, either, when he got the call saying he was traded.

Eric, though. Eric was devastated. He hadn’t been able to find what he called a “career track” job, but he babysat for Marty and Thirdy’s kids, he baked for special events (and did get paid for it), he was a fixture at Falconers charity events.

The year that followed was not good for either of them. St. Louis reminded Jack of nothing so much as purgatory, gray and unwelcoming and uncomfortable. Eric reached out to the team, to the WAGs, and … well, he said that he couldn’t fault them for civility. But over the months, he spent less time reaching out to people and more time on his vlog.

Jack poured his heart and soul into his hockey, hoping to attract interest from other teams as soon as he entered free agency so they could leave this godawful place.

Then came a year in LA, where Eric seemed to fit in a little better.The golden California sun loved him, Jack thought, and when they got dragged to a party with people from TV and movies, Bitty mixed and mingled with abandon.

The trade to Vegas surprised them both, but Jack figured it would be fine. How different could it be?

It turned out the difference between the shore and the desert was vast indeed. The sun that caressed Eric in Los Angeles glared at him in Vegas and exposed all his flaws. Or maybe it just showed the flaws in everything.

Eric complained about the heat, about the tourists, about the excess of everything. He didn’t like the condo, he didn’t like the furniture (the furniture he bought, because it went with the style of the condo), he didn’t like the showgirls that hung around the team. He didn’t like Kent, but he had never liked Kent.

“He just wants to be friends, Eric,” Jack explained. “And he’s the captain. I have to spend time with him, and it would be good if you did, too.”

“No, thank you, Mr. Zimmermann,” Eric said. “You suit yourself, but I’ll keep myself busy.”

That was the week before Jack found the letter at his place at the dining room table.

“Dear Jack,

“I love you. I know that’s a strange way to start a Dear John letter, but it’s true. I love you more than anything, and I know you love me.

“But it’s not enough. I used to think it would be, that we would get married and adopt babies and grow old together. But I kind of think I’ve stopped growing at all, and I can’t take root here.

“This isn’t my place, and it’s not going to be. It’s Kent Parson’s, and I guess it’s yours now. I’m putting this letter at the head of our dining room table, but I can count the number of times we’ve eaten here together on one hand.

“I guess it’s a good thing we never did get married. Not being legally bound together makes this so much easier.

“I’m not angry, and I don’t blame you. I always knew hockey was your first love, and hockey is a jealous lover.

“Please don’t worry about me. I’m going to try to disappear for a while, try to figure out what I want and what I need before I start over. Don’t try to find me.

“I know this will hurt you, and I’m sorry.

“Love, Eric.”

Jack had wanted to howl, wanted to collapse, when he read it. He called Kent, who shrugged, and said, “Is that the first time someone cut you off like that? Doesn’t feel great, does it?”

He called Shitty, whom he hadn’t talked to in six months, and was advised to follow Eric’s instructions.

“Brah, how much time were even spending together?” Shitty asked. “I’m pretty sure Bits was lonely.”

“Do you know where he is?” Jack asked, point-blank.

“Yes,” Shitty said. “But he asked me not to tell you. He told me to be there for you – he said you’ll need someone – but not to say where he is.”

“Is he alright?” Jack asked.

“Brah, he’s wrecked,” Shitty said. “Says he doesn’t know who he is without being attached to you. But he doesn’t want to just be an appendage.”

“Okay,” Jack said. “But could you tell him something for me?”

“Maybe,” Shitty said.

“Tell him that I’ll always love him, and I’m sorry I didn’t see what he needed,” Jack said. “Tell him that he’s it for me, and when he finds what he needs, if he still wants me, I’ll be there. Will you tell him?”

Shitty shrugged.

“Depends,” he said. “I’m not gonna lay a guilt trip on him.”

Now, a year and another Stanley Cup later, there was a small off-white envelope, addressed to him in Bitty’s – Eric’s – handwriting. The return address was in Providence, the address of the bakery that had asked Eric to leave and not come back.

“Dear Jack,

“Congrats on the Cup. Now I know why everyone was so excited about you and Kent playing together. Including Kent.

“Shitty chose the night you won to pass on your message. I think he wanted to wait until I knew you were alright.

“I’m alright, too. I don’t know if you realized, but I managed to save a lot of money while we were together – well, a lot for me. Probably not for you. But it was enough to buy myself into a partnership in this bakery. The plan is to take the whole thing over in a few years when my partner retires. Business partner, I mean.

“I have friends and a job and a life, and I guess I could say I’m happy, and it wouldn’t be a lie. Thank you for giving me the space I needed to do that. But I do miss you.

“If you want to get back in touch, you have my address.”

“Love, Bitty”

Jack put the letter down, and thought about buying some stationery to write back. Then he decided to take the more direct route. He called his agent and asked her to book him on the next flight to Providence.

He didn’t know exactly how this would work. But it would, somehow. And in a few years when he retired, his partner – his life partner – would be in Providence, not waiting for him, but building a life they could share.


	20. Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _From an anonymous prompt asking for Jack and Bitty going to Pride together the first time. I hope this satisfies; maybe it's not as happy as you hoped for. The 2016 Stanley Cup was decided in a Game 6 on June 12, later in the same day as the Pulse nightclub massacre. A Game 7 likely would have been June 14. Rhode Island Pride was June 18, featuring a daylong festival topped off with an illuminated evening parade._
> 
> __
> 
> Content warning for non-graphic discussion of violence (the Pulse shooting) and homophobia.
> 
> __

Jack put down his phone and looked at Bitty.

“Do you want to?”

Bitty stared back.

“This isn’t how I thought I’d go to my first Pride,” he said.

“I know,” Jack said. “Me either.”

“Do you think it will be safe?”

“I think so,” Jack said. “They wouldn’t have any of us going if they didn’t think it was safe. I mean, they’re taking the Cup.”

“Okay,” Bitty nodded. “Let’s do it. We can ride on the Falconers float, or we can walk next to it. Whatever we decide that day.”

“Okay,” Jack said. “I’ll call Georgia back, then I’ll get us a flight back to Providence.”

That evening, as Jack and Bitty cleaned up the kitchen at the Montreal house, Bitty said, “I never went to Atlanta Pride, you know. I wanted to – I’d pore over the pictures in the paper the next day. All the flags, and the costumes … my Lord, the glitter! But if I said I wanted to go, everyone would want to know why, or worse, they’d think they knew why. And if I took off for an entire Saturday in October – if I took the car to drive into Atlanta – well, it wasn’t like I could get away with sneaking over there.”

“October?”

“Trust Atlanta to be different. It’s too hot in June anyway, so they do it around Coming Out Day. Anyway, I had plans for this year, since I was going to be here for Pride. I was gonna put on my tiniest shorts, and a rainbow tank top, and I was gonna paint rainbows on my face, and wear body glitter, and stand along the parade route and dance my little booty off and cheer as loud as I could,” Bitty said. “I was hoping you’d come with, but …”

“But we had a good season, and too many people knew me,” Jack said. “That why you invited Shitty and Lardo to come up for the weekend?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “At first I thought I’d go down to Boston for their Pride, but you had Game 6 that weekend and I wasn’t going to disappear on you.”

“Would you have cheered for the Falcs float?”

“Even though you weren’t gonna be on it?” Bitty smirked. “Of course. It was gonna be fun watching Marty and Thirdy try to dance … Of course they picked the straight guys with families that no one would suspect of being gay.”

“Until I went and outed myself,” Jack said.

“Yeah, I know,” Bitty said. “But after Orlando … it was important.”

“It was, bud,” Jack said. “Itt was important to send the message. But it was more important for us, for me to show you that I’ll never regret loving you, no matter what. And if you want to wear little booty shorts and body glitter on the Falcs’ float, I’m not going to stop you.”

****************************************

Bitty climbed onto the float carrying a container of rainbow-themed cookies. He was wearing his rainbow-themed tank with not quite his shortest shorts, and his cheekbones and brows sparkled in the lights that illuminated the float and gleamed off the surface of the Cup, which was displayed right at the front..

“Hey’ y’all,” he said. “Wait – how many of you are up here?”

“It’s almost everyone,” Jack said, reaching to take the cookies. “Management opened it up to anyone who wanted to join. They wanted to surprise us. I didn’t know until I got here.”

Marty and Thirdy were there, with their wives, and Tater and Snowy and Poots and even Guy, who was the only one not smiling. But Bitty thought it was a cheerful sort of not-smile.

“Get your jersey on, Jack!” Tater said. “You member of team. Most important, maybe, today.”

Tater tossed Jack a jersey that he expected would match theirs: a Falconers home jersey, but with the nameplate and number in rainbow stripes.

When Jack unfolded the bundle, he got a surprise. A second jersey, slightly smaller, that also said “Zimmermann 1” in rainbow stripes, fell out of the folds.

“You don’t have to wear it if you’d rather show off the guns, Eric” Marty said. “But we wanted you to feel included.”

“Where were you anyway?” Jack said. “And what happened to the cookies? Like half of them are gone.”

“I was talking to the group in front of us,” Bitty said. “Did you know about them? The ‘76ers?”

“Like the basketball team?” Poots looked confused, because the youngest members of the group leading off the the parade seemed to be at least in their 60s.

“Not exactly,” Bitty said. “Those are people who marched in the first Pride parade in Providence 40 years ago. They said only about 100 people marched, with drums and kazoos, and they were terrified they’d be attacked. But they came out again this year, after Orlando. They’re real heroes.”

“So are you, bud,” Jack whispered. “You could have been down there on the sidewalk, boogying the night away with Shitty and Lardo, but you’re not. I know you were afraid, but you’re here anyway.”

“That’s right,” Bitty said. “Someone start the music! Let’s see how well all you straight boys can dance!”


	21. Good luck at practice!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Based on OMGCP’s episode 4.01. Takes place after Bitty’s first hockey practice as a freshman. CW for internalized and external homophobia._

Eric looked at his phone, tossed it on the bed, and flopped down after it.

Mama’s cheerful text was still on the lock screen.

_Good luck at your first practice!_

Right. He’d had all the good luck in the world … if it was lucky to end up crumpled on the ice, curled up like a roly-poly, just because one of the other boys had bumped his shoulder. Eric had ended up in the humiliating position of trying to assure his coaches and teammates there was nothing wrong, while still unable to get up and listening to the other players speculate on his problem. He believed fainting goats were mentioned.

It would be so easy to call Mama – all he had to do was open the text and hit the call button – to call Mama and tell her he wanted to come home.

She’d made sure to tell him he could do that, just before she left.

_“Remember, Dicky-bird, if it doesn’t work out, you can always come back and we’ll figure something out. You don’t have to stay here if you don’t like it.”_

At the time, Eric thought her problem was with the students wandering the campus with blue and green and purple hair, and tattoos on their arms, and the girls who looked like boys and the boys who looked like girls, and the ones that Bitty couldn’t even begin to make a guess about.

Eric didn’t know how to tell her that the people – the ones with rainbow-themed T-shirts and the boy in the tutu who helped him move in – they made him feel like maybe they wouldn’t think there was anything wrong with him. Compared with the variety of ways they found to be different, liking boys seemed like it was something that could be overlooked.

But maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was because she knew this would happen. She’d been there at his first Pop Warner football practice, after all, seen him lying in a heap crying after three boys pounded him into the ground – three! When he was small enough that it would have only taken one – and picked him up and carried him away.

When he’d told her, “Mama, I’m not sure I can play anymore,” she’d clucked and asked him what was wrong, then gone to his father to say he would not be returning to the team.

Coach – well, maybe that was the beginning of Coach being disappointed in him. He’d like to say it was the first time he’d had a problem with the other boys, but that would be a lie. It had taken him far too long to learn that he shouldn’t talk about how much he liked baking with his mother and MooMaw.

Then when he got this scholarship, he thought maybe it would be enough. Maybe Coach would stop looking at him like he was a changeling. When he was little, he used to imagine he was.

But he knew better, for real. And Coach Hall and Coach Murray thought he could play. He knew that for a fact, and not just because they said so. They gave him a scholarship and everything.

And if he played, and played well, maybe Coach would notice. Maybe he would be proud.

He didn’t think he could put on a brave enough face to actually talk to Mama right now, so he slid his thumb across the screen to open the text window and wrote back.

_It was fine, Mama. They’re thinking of building a play around me._


	22. Call Your Mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Based on the incidents of comic 04.02, “24-Hour Celly”_

The first missed call came in when Bitty was on the ice, pressed next to Jack, holding up the bottom of the Stanley Cup. He was joining the team in yelling out “Motherfucking Wellies!!” while Alicia Zimmermann snapped picture after picture on everybody’s phones.

When she handed his phone back, she didn’t say anything about the call from Mama. Maybe she hadn’t seen.

Bitty thought about calling back, right away, in the middle of everything. That’s what he usually did when Mama called. And … well, if it didn’t go well, it would be like pulling a Band-Aid off. And he’d have plenty to distract him for the rest of the night.

But this was Jack’s night. He’d just won the Stanley Cup, and he’d just come out by kissing Bitty on center ice on national TV. He didn’t deserve to have a boyfriend who was too distracted to celebrate properly.

It could go well, of course. It could be just peachy. Maybe Mama just wanted to congratulate Jack on his game-winning goal. Maybe she would tell him she approved of his choice of a boyfriend. But maybe not.

The second missed call came in when they were in the pandemonium of the Falconers’ dressing room, all the locker stalls protected from flying champagne by sheets of clear plastic duct-taped in front of them. Bitty’s phone was safely in his back pocket, under the protective tail of his replica jersey. It was vibrating every few seconds as the group chat blew up, but that was fine. Bitty could see the same notifications on Jack’s Samsung – the one he got for its camera that also happened to be water-resistant – as he used it to snap pictures of Jack celebtrating with his team.

Then he felt the distinctive vibration of an actual call coming in, and he knew. It had to be Mama. No one else would even try to make a voice call right now, not when the music was blasting and corks were popping and the players were shouting themselves hoarse.

Bitty considered stepping out in the hall, but he had never seen that look on Jack’s face before, and he didn’t want to miss a moment of it. Jack was so carefree, so loose, so _happy._ And the was no way Bitty was going to do anything to ruin that.

The third call came in when Bitty was taking the first pie out of the oven. After the dressing room, after a stop at local sports bar to have a drink with the team – and Bitty saw that Jack had only one, no matter how loopy he got – they arrived at Jack’s condo to find it full of current and former Wellies, and Tater, who seemed to want to experience college life. At least the partying part.

Jack let down his guard a little more among people he’d known for years, pulling Bitty into his lap while he accepted congratulations, pausing to kiss his cheek or his jaw between reliving the glory of Game 7. The group chat was still going strong, even with almost everyone in the same room, and Jack was revelling in the opportunity to be affectionate with Bitty no matter who saw. Bitty was loving it too, truth be told, but he couldn’t stop wondering what his mother would say.

When Holster raised the idea of pie, Bitty hopped up without hesitating, because rolling out dough almost always calmed his nerves.

It did help, enough at least that no one noticed he was worried about anything. Well. They were all too busy celebrating, and pretty much everyone was at least a few drinks in. It looked like there would be some people sleeping on the floor tonight.

Then his phone vibrated on the counter with an incoming call, and Bitty just turned it face down. He had guests to see to.

He was plating the pie – still really too hot to serve, but at least cool enough that it wouldn’t burn anyone’s mouth – when it vibrated again. It was a text notification, so he picked it up.

Coach.

_You’re mother’s worried sick. Give her a call._

Bitty couldn’t remember Coach ever being up at 2:48 a.m. And if he was texting now, Mama was up too.

But Bitty couldn’t do this now. He was too tired, and too drunk. And Jack would definitely notice if he disappeared. He turned the phone over and left it on the pool table and walked away.

After that, it was easier to just leave his phone there when Jack tugged him by the hand to the bedroom. And it was easier to leave it there the next morning when it was time to go to the presser. Bitty wouldn’t be front and center, of course, but there was a good likelihood that the cameras would catch him entering the Falcs facility. If Mama was really just worried about him, she could see that and know he was okay.

He could call later. Maybe when Jack crashed and got some sleep. Because whatever happened, he wasn’t going to ruin this for Jack.


	23. My Boyfriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Based on the incidents of comic 04.03_

Ugh.

How many times would they yell out a question about the locker room?

Did they really think Jack had nothing better to think about when he was getting ready or cleaning up after a hockey game? That his team had nothing better to think about than what Jack was thinking about?

Well, if Jack was thinking about how to solve Holtby, they should be thinking about _that_.

Jack felt a his lips curl into a small smile and quickly tamed it. He wasn’t going to give them anything until they asked about the topic of the day, which was, duh, hockey.

Then someone asked whom he had been kissing. Like, what, he grabbed the first cute blond in a Falcs sweater (a Zimmermann sweater) he saw?

“Oh … my boyfriend?” Jack said, because really, wasn’t that obvious?

Jack wished he could see Bitty right now, but he knew it was better that Bitty was safely tucked in an office, away from the prying eyes and rude questions. Someone had already mentioned Samwell. If they didn’t know his name yet, it wouldn’t be long.

He felt the presence of Marty and Thirdy, Tater and Snowy beside him, ready to share the load, so he sat down and let them take over.

After, he invited them to come for breakfast, even though that would mean a stop at the grocery store on the way. Bitty could drive straight home with Tater, who really should stay off that knee, and get things going.

Jack and Thirdy brought the eggs and milk and bread to the kitchen, then Jack busied himself refilling coffee for everyone who was feeling the effects of overdoing it the night before.

Bitty was sending out platters and bowls of eggs and toast and potatoes and fruit every few minutes, while the TV played continuing coverage of the game and the press conference. Someone — maybe Shitty? — had muted it before they got home, which was fine with Jack. He’d much rather watch himself kiss Bitty than listen to idiot commentators talk about it.

Bitty was still in the kitchen. Jack wanted to ask him to come join everyone, but stopped himself. Maybe that wasn’t what Bitty wanted? He loved to cook, loved to feed people, and maybe he just wanted to get away from the hubbub. Jack knew what that felt like. It wouldn’t be right to drag him out here just because Jack wanted to feel him close, preferably in his lap (Jack loved having Bitty in his lap) or at least next to him.

Jack craned his neck and saw Dex in the kitchen with Bitty. He wasn’t alone, then. Even if Dex seemed an odd friend for Bitty, Jack knew they were close. That was good.

Maybe all these people would leave soon. Shits and Lardo would have to go to Boston for clean clothes, or at least out to buy some. Jack had to call Maman and Papa … had Bitty talked to his parents? At all?

Shit.

When the TV went to a commercial, Jack turned it off and started collecting plates. That was enough of a message for most everybody to get up, carry their dishes to the kitchen, thank Bitty for the food and get ready to go. Thirdy even dragged Tater out.

Jack loaded the dishwasher — Bitty must have emptied it while he was cooking — and went in search of his phone. While he was at it, he grabbed Bitty’s charger and took it to the kitchen.

“Want me to plug your phone in, bud?”


	24. Sick fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous prompt: "jack taking care of sick bittle or viceversa?"  
>  This is really fluffy. Like, cotton candy-fluffy._

Jack knew the moment he heard Bitty’s voice on message.

It would have been extremely disappointing, if not for the rasp and slight quaver Jack could hear,

“Hi there, sweetpea. I hope practice is going well today. I, um, I have some bad news. I’m not going to go to Providence today. I’m just not really feeling up to it, so I’m going to stay here and rest, and not get you sick. I’ll miss you, sweetheart. Love you.”

As it was, the message was simply worrying, because Jack was pretty sure Bitty had been looking forward to this weekend as much as he was. Six weeks into Bitty’s school year and two weeks into his season, with preseason games just starting for Jack, they were reminded once again of how hard it was to see each other regularly when Bitty was at Samwell and Jack was in Providence.

“Something wrong?”

Marty was watching Jack frown at his phone.

“Bitty’s sick,” Jack said. “He said he’s not going to come for the weekend.”

“That’s rough,” Marty said. “Can you head up there for a while? Bring him some soup or something?”

“What? Little B’s not coming to our game tomorrow?” Tater said.

“Doesn’t look that way,” Jack said. “Sorry, Tater, no pie this weekend.”

“I’m not worrying about the pie,” Tater said, looking affronted. “You go see him, make sure he’s okay. Talk to coaches if you need. They’ll let you off morning skate tomorrow.”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “He’s pretty stubborn. And he called when he knew I was in practice so he wouldn’t have to talk to me.”

Which really kind of sucked, Jack thought, because he wanted to talk to Bitty. Even if all Bitty said was those four sentences.

“He probably didn’t want to worry you,” Marty said.

“It didn’t really work,” Jack said. “I think I will go down there. Maybe I can get him to come back with me if I drive him. Otherwise I can just go back and forth. It’s not that far.”

Jack stowed his gear at home and packed an overnight bag with a change of clothes and a book just in case he ended up staying. The Haus would have basic over-the-counter medicines – Jack was pretty sure Bitty maintained the medical kit – and a thermometer, and he’d left a phone charger there last year, after he and Bitty told the Samwell team that they were dating.

He did try to call Bitty, but it went straight to voicemail.

“Hey, bud, I’m sorry to hear you’re sick. Do you think you’d be more comfortable at home in Providence if I could come get you?”

Then he called Bitty’s favorite diner in Samwell and asked for them to pack up a quart of chicken noodle soup to go.

Last, he texted Lardo to get Ford’s phone number.

***************

Ford hung up the phone and shook her head.

Why anyone worried about Bitty when Jack Zimmermann was on the case was a mystery. A real, true mystery.

Well, of course she _knew_ why. Jack couldn’t always be there, given his one-of-the-top-players-in-the-NHL work commitments. But she was pretty sure that if he could find a way, Jack would take care of Bitty as well anyone could. Even if it meant calling Bitty’s own mother and flying her here.

Jack’s call had come just at the end of Ford’s Theater as Design class, ringing as she packed her things for the trek to the dining hall, and she picked up without registering that it was from a number she hadn’t saved.

When she answered, Jack had apologized for going to Lardo for her number and then just started in without waiting for a response.

“How’s Bitty? Has he been to see a doctor? Do Hall and Murray know he’s sick? Is he taking care of himself?”

Ford spared a thought to wonder why Jack hadn’t called Chow, or Ollie or Wicks … someone he actually knew, more than having been introduced a few times. Then she remembered the way Hall and Murray had told her to make sure Bitty got to the health center after they pulled him off the ice at yesterday’s practice. He clearly wasn’t himself, and his cough was concerning. As he dressed and walked with her to the clinic, Bitty had admitted to coughing so hard he vomited before practice, and he was clearly feverish.

“The nurse practitioner said it’s an early case of the flu,” Ford said. “She gave him Tamiflu, and said that given his general health, he should recover in a few days. But he’s off the ice for at least a week. I got him excused from all his classes through next Thursday, too.”

“Fuck,” Jack said. “He just told me he was under the weather.”

“Yeah, he was pretty clear he didn’t want anyone calling you,” Ford said. “He was afraid you’d get sick if you came down. But he didn’t say I couldn’t talk if you called me.”

“I’m on my way down,” Jack said. “I’m bringing soup, but I think it would be better if I brought him home with me. If he’s that worried, I can sleep in the guest room, but we’re not on the road this week.”

“It’s probably a good idea,” Ford said. “They people who live in the Haus love him to death, but they don’t clean the way he does. And if the place turns into a sty, he’ll feel guilty. Just give me 24 hours notice before you bring him back and get them to get the place back into shape.”

“As long as you make them do it,” Jack said. “You’re the manager, not their mother.”

He paused.

“You think I should call his mother?”

“Maybe leave that up to him?” Ford said. “I mean, no one seems to think this is a really dangerous illness. At least not at this point. But she could tell you what he likes to eat when he’s sick and everything.”

*******************************

Jack let himself into the Haus, glad that he had never turned in his key, and made his way to Bitty’s bedroom as quietly as he could. He opened the door and peeked in, only to see Bitty’s head pop out of the nest of blankets on his bed like a meercat.

“Jack!’ he said, his voice now a raspy whisper. “I told you I didn’t want to get you sick!”

“I’ll take my chances, bud,” Jack said. “You’re sick. I brought you some soup.”

He saw two bottles of Gatorade next to Bitty’s bed, along with a bottle of ibuprofen and prescription bottle.

“I see you’re keeping hydrated,” he said. “That’s good. Have you eaten anything today?”

“I had some toast earlier, but I couldn’t keep it down,” Bitty said. “I mean it, stay away. I’m all gross and covered with germs.”

Jack sat at the end of the bed anyway, taking in Bitty’s greasy hair and the sweat-sheen on his face..

“How about you eat some soup and see how it goes?” he said. “Maybe take a shower if you’re up to it? That might make you feel better.”

Jack opened the soup carton and handed it over with the plastic spoon.

After the first couple of bites, Bitty’s voice was stronger. “Don’t think you’re staying here,” he said. “I see your bag, but you can’t share a twin bed with me, and I will not have you stay on the couch.”

“Then come back with me,” Jack said. “I can stay in the guest room.”

“Jack!” Bitty paused to cough, and yeah, that didn’t sound good. “I won’t put you out of your bed.”

“Then you can stay in the guest room,” Jack said reasonably. “But if you’re sick, you should be where someone can take care of you. I can get Carrie or Gabby to look in on you when I have to be away more than a couple of hours.”

“I’m not that sick!”

“Sick enough to miss a game this weekend, and a week of classes,” Jack said. “And I really don’t want to be on an air mattress for a week. I suppose I could call your mom ..”

“Jack Zimmermann!” Bitty had to cough again, “I will not have you worrying your mother!”

“Then I guess you’ll tell me which books and notebooks you need,” Jack said, already putting Bitty’s laptop and charger into his bookbag. “Do you need anything else besides Señor Bun? I think you have enough clothes in Providence.”

“Fine,” Bitty said. “I need my medicine.”

“Got it,” Jack said. “Ready for a shower? I’ll wait in the bathroom to make sure you’re alright.”

“And I should text Ford and the guys – and the coaches – to let then know,”

“I’ll do that while you’re showering,” Jack said. “Then we can go home.”

Bitty closed his eyes briefly before opening them and pushing the blankets away.

“That sounds good,” he said. “Thanks. Let’s get going so we can go home.”


	25. Fun and games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Based on this prompt from @wyntera:_
> 
>  
> 
> _one of them has a little cousin that’s having a birthday party at one of those family fun parks where they have mini golf and go karts and arcade games, cute competition ensues_

Jack looked warily at the garish, grinning face on the painted sign. Clowns were creepy, he thought. It wasn’t just him.

“This is it,” Bitty said. “Uncle Beau’s House of Fun. Although it’s not really a house – you’ll notice the lack of actual walls. Can you grab that bag there? I’ve got the cupcakes.”

“Why would your cousin host a first birthday here?” Jack asked, as they crunched their way across the gravel parking lot. “I mean, there’s really nothing for a one-year-old to do here.”

“It’s not really about the baby,” Bitty said. “It’s about the parents.”

“Like they want to show off what a good party they can throw for their friends?” Jack said.

“Not exactly,” Bitty said. “More like they grew up at the arcade and go-karting, and they haven’t been able to get out so much since Ellie was born, and this is a chance to get out with a few dozen people who will be happy to take a turn entertaining the baby. I mean, Amanda’s younger than me.”

“Wait – a few dozen?”

“Jack, did you see how many cupcakes Mama and I made?”

“I thought you made a lot of extra ones.”

“Oh, honey.”

Jack followed Bitty across the threshold, stepping onto the cement slab and feeling a little relief from the shade of the roof. Pop music blared from speakers near the ceiling, fighting a losing battle with the whine of go-kart engines coming from the track out back and the dings and buzzes of at least two dozen arcade games.

Bitty led the way to a picnic table at the back, already piled high with presents for Ellie.

“Jack, this my cousin Amanda and her husband, Scott,” Bitty said, setting his tray of cupcakes down next to the one his parents drove over. “Amanda, this my boyfriend, Jack.”

“Uh, we know, Dicky,” Amanda said. “I think y’all made that pretty clear on TV, don’t you?”

Jack wasn’t sure how to read her tone, but Bitty just ducked his head and grinned. “I guess so,” he said. “That was kind of the point, y’know?”

“You always were kinda dramatic,” Amanda said. “But you done good, little Dicky.”

Jack found himself face-to-face with Scott, who was big and beefy, like so many football players who offering his hand to shake. “Welcome,” Scott said. “I never really watched hockey before, but Mandy’s Uncle Richard wouldn’t stop about it, so we watched that last series. I don’t know how you guys do that – all on skates and all.”

“You know, Bi– Eric plays hockey, right?” Jack said.

“Well, yeah, but not like that, right?” Scott said.

“Yeah, pretty much just like that,” Jack said. “He’s going to be captain of the team I was captain of the year before I joined the Falcs, so. And he can skate faster than me or any guy on my team.”

“You singing my praises over there again?”

Bitty was apparently done talking to his cousin.

“Sorry,” Jack said.

“No need to apologize, sweetpea. Let’s get a couple of those cups of tokens and play some games, all right? We’ve got about an hour before they bring out the food. And Amanda said we should get our names on the list if we want to go-kart.”

“You want to?” Jack said.

“Sure, I’ll beat you in another kind of race,” Bitty said, smirking. “What do you want to do until then? Video games? Pinball? Skee-ball?”

Jack considered. He knew he wasn’t much good at the kind of video games the guys played on consoles through their TVs, and he didn’t think he’d be much better with the machines that lined the center of the pavilion. Old-fashioned pinball would be better – the only controls to master would be the flippers. But Bitty would chirp him for being old-fashioned. He was sure of it.

“You spend much time at places like this as a kid?” he asked, hoping to stall for time.

“Well, sure,” Bitty said. “In elementary school, the rule was that you had to invite everybody to a birthday party, or, as we got a little older, all the boys or all the girls. For a few years there, it seemed like every party was at an arcade. And since no one really liked me, I just hung out and played.”

He shrugged. “Turns out I wasn’t bad.”

Jack could see that, given Eric’s hand-eye coordination. But he was a professional athlete. He should be able to do this, too. Maybe it was that all he did growing up was play hockey.

“Skee-ball’s the one like bowling, right?”

“Sort of,” Bitty said. “In that there’s a ball and you roll it.”

“Let’s do that,” Jack said.

It was fun, he decided. He figured out pretty quickly that the best move was to aim high instead of for the middle. They payoff was better – especially if you hit one of the corner holes for 100 points – and even if you missed, you had a chance to do better than the 10 points you got for missing all the targets.

It was fun, and Jack was definitely better than the six-year-old next to him, but he was nowhere near as good as Bitty. Jack’s best game came in at 280 points, and it made the machine spit out a long strip of tickets. Bitty’s best game that Jack saw hit 400, with Bitty putting six straight balls in the 50-point target. That was the kind of consistency that only came with long practice.

Bitty’s ticket strip was folding onto itself on the floor.

“I think I saw Space Invaders over there,” Jack said. “Want to do that?”

“Go ahead,” Bitty said “There’s that hunting game next to it. I’ll do that.”

“They let kids play shooting games?”

“Jack, honey, they let kids shoot real guns,” Bitty said.

After another 15 minutes, both their ticket rolls had grown, but Bitty’s was at least twice the size of Jack’s.

“Had enough of blasting aliens?” Bitty said. “If we pool our tickets I think we have enough to get that stuffed unicorn behind the counter. We can give it to Ellie.”

Jack thought the box of play food and children’s books they had wrapped probably outshone a arcade plushie, but maybe not.

“It could turn into her Señor Bun,” Bitty was saying.

The unicorn claimed and delivered to Ellie – who wasted no time biting down on the horn – Bitty looked aroind again. “The air hockey table is free.”

“I don’t know why they call this hockey.” Jack said, watching the board tally another point for Bitty, who was up 6-5. “It’s more like paddle ball or something.”

“LIke flat table tennis?” Bitty said. “I can see that.”

Jack tied it a moment later, and finally pulled out a win. “Good game,” Bitty said graciously.

A little too graciously. Jack suspected Bitty had gone easy on him, but he wasn’t about to ask.

“Let’s check in at the go-kart station,” Bitty said.

“FIne,” Jack said. “But I want you to go for it, okay? Don’t let me win.”

Bitty didn’t pretend to be shocked, which pretty much confirmed Jack’s suspicion.

“If you say so,” Bitty said. “But I know it’s no fun if you feel like you can’t compete. I grew up playing these games, so it’s not really fair. And weight’s a big disadvantage in go-karting.”

“And it’s a big advantage in hockey, which we played together for two years,” Jack said. “It’s fine. I’ll do my best, and you do your best.”

“And we’ll both probably get beaten by my cousin Shelly,” Bitty said. “She’s 10, and she’s a maniac.”

Jack told himself he could do this. He could surprise Bitty, cruise to the finish ahead of him. And when the karts took off, he managed to at least stay with Bitty for a bit. But every corner, he seemed to drift just a touch wider and lose just a couple of feet. 

By the time the race was over – Shelly in first, Bitty in second – Jack was 50 feet and another two karts back. But it was good, watching Bitty climb out of the cart, laughing and congratulating Shelly. His smile was open in a way it hadn’t been the last time Jack was in Georgia with him, and he’d introduced Jack as his boyfriend to people who clearly knew exactly who he was, and who he was to Bitty. And all of them, to a person, smiled and offered their congratulations.

It felt like winning to Jack.


	26. Cherry pie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _From a prompt from[likewedreamimpossiblethings](http://likewedreamimpossiblethings.tumblr.com): Somebody hits on jack and/or bitty at work not knowing the two of them are dating and it ends with some cute speech about how they’d never cheat on one another_

The first thing Jack noticed was the size of the basket in front of Bitty.

Nobody needed a full bushel of cherries, did they?

The wagon next to Bitty already was stacked with flats of blueberries, a dozen ears of sweet corn, and enough tomatoes and zucchini to stock a small store. A shiny purple eggplant was nestled next to them, and Jack’s reusable bag was full of kale and chard.

But. Jack knew that Bitty didn’t like (detested? hated? would sooner die than?) using canned cherry pie filling, or even most store-bought canned cherries. Probably he planned to freeze the cherries. Or can them himself. Or make pies and freeze them.

Jack decided it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Bitty was buying all this food to take home to their condo, where they would spend the next two weeks. Then they had a quick pre-season trip to Nova Scotia to see Maman and Papa before Bitty would have to head back to the Haus to assume his captainly duties and Jack’s pre-season conditioning got serious. Well, more serious.

At least Bitty could come back to Providence (to Jack) for the first couple of weekends.

The second thing Jack noticed was that he had been standing here staring at Bitty like a lovesick fool (Jack believed in honest self-assessment) and Bitty was still talking to the guy at the stand with the cherries. No, wait, the guy at the stand was talking to Bitty. He had actually come around the counter to show Bitty something, had one hand on Bitty’s arm, the other hand stretched into the basket of cherries, showing off a tanned and tattooed forearm.

Bitty looked … amused. He also looked good, his skin all summer gold from the tops of his low-cut sneakers to the top of his forehead. Only his cheekbones and nose were pink under a smattering of freckles, and his sunglasses were pushed into honey-blond hair. His shorts and tank-top did nothing to disguise what a childhood of figure skating, three years of NCAA hockey, and a summer of conditioning with Jack had done for him.

Cherry guy was taller, Jack thought, and maybe 20 pounds heavier, but Bitty could probably bench press him. Easily.

Jack approached slowly, waiting to see what would happen. Cherry guy reached into the basket and pulled several of the ripe red fruits out. He offered one to Bitty — sure, offer him the fruit he already bought, or was going to buy — and popped another one into his mouth, spitting the pit to the side. Bitty ate his as well — Jack watched the guy’s watch Bitty’s mouth — and nodded. Jack was pretty sure Bitty hadn’t missed the look either, or the fact that Jack was nearly upon them, by the way he smirked.

“Well, now, Jeff, that’s a kind offer,” Bitty was saying as Jack came up and slid his free arm around Bitty’s waist. “This is my boyfriend, Jack, and we’d love to come see your orchard one of these weekends, but I’m afraid our schedules are going to be pretty busy in the next few weeks.”

Jack would have liked to smile at Jeff as sunnily as Bitty was, but he was afraid it looked more like he was baring his teeth. At least, that’s what it looked like from the speed with which Jeff stepped back. After all, he might be bigger than Bitty, but Jack easily had three inches and 40 pounds on him.

Jack extended his hand and very carefully did not crunch Jeff’s bones together as he said, “Jeff, was it? Jack Zimmermann.”

“Wait — you’re the hockey player — then you’re the guy —“

“The very same,” Bitty said. “I have your card and I’ll be in touch about setting aside a couple of bushels of apples for me in September.”

“Nice to meet you, Jeff,” Jack said, nodding a dismissal before helping Bitty rearrange the wagon to accommodate the cherries.

As they walked away, Jack leaned down and said quietly, “Was he making a pest of himself?”

“Why?” Bitty asked. “What would you do if he was?”

Jack shrugged. “I’d have something to say to him.”

“Oh, Lord, no,” Bitty said. “He was just trying a little hard. And I didn’t want to just shut him down.”

“No?”

“His cherries _are_ good,” Bitty said. “But you know I’m all yours, right?”

“I know,” Jack said.

“Good,” Bitty said. “Let’s go home and you can show me how much you like that.”


	27. Tired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Based on comic 04.04,[“Calling home”](http://checkpleasecomic.com/comic/4-04-01)_.

Well.

That was the most exhausting phone call ever.

Jack was sitting on the bed, looking at him, waiting for some kind of sign about how it went.

But Bitty was tired. Too tired to relive the conversation he’d been afraid of having for the last three years. The conversation that was too frightening for him to even imagine before that.

Jack heard enough. Jack heard him tell his mama that he loved Jack. that he was gay, and that he was staying in Providence. For now, that would have to do.

But why didn’t this feel freeing? After he came out to Shitty, it had been like bubbles were wafting up through his body, bursting out of him in peals of laughter for the sheer joy of being able to say who he was and have it be okay.

Now all he felt was a heavy weight in his belly, like he ate too much of something utterly undigestable.

It wasn’t like it had gone badly. It could have gone so, so much worse. She didn’t yell at him, wasn’t angry at him for keeping this a secret or for not calling back right away. She didn’t tell him he was sick or evil or sinful, or say she would pray for him … with the awful implication that he needed it.

None of that happened. She went out of her way to say he was welcome and wanted at home, even, although she never did directly mention Jack visiting again, not like she did last summer when it was like she was trying to arrange a playdate for baby Dicky. But she didn’t disinvite Jack either. Maybe that “you” she used was plural. Maybe. But wouldn’t she have said “y’all” then?

But she said they loved him and Jack both. Which was nice, he supposed, to have your parents approve of your boyfriend.

Still, what were all these things they had to figure out? “We’ll figure it out,” Mama said. More than once. But what was there to figure out? He was gay. He always had been gay, always would be gay. It wasn’t a problem to be solved. He wasn’t a problem to be solved.

Maybe it would feel different if she had said the word “gay.” even once. But Bitty was pretty sure he knew why she hadn’t. “Gay” was a word you used to insult people, in her mind, and calling him gay would have been hurtful, she thought. She thought who he was was a problem, something they had to learn to deal with if it couldn’t be changed.

He had learned to deal with it, though. It was called living his life, with school and hockey and friends and that lovely, handsome boyfriend who was still looking at him with concern on his face.

Maybe he should have explained that to Mama, that there was nothing to figure out. His life was neither a problem nor a puzzle for them to solve. But doing that today … he was too tired for that. Which just meant it was a task for another day. Would this never be over?

And Coach, too. At least he approved of Jack’s athletic prowess. As for the rest of it, Bitty wasn’t sure. Mama said he knew his daddy loved him, but Bitty had never been entirely certain of that. At least, not since Mama carried him off the football field in disgrace.

One of these days he’d have to talk to Coach and find out. Or not. Maybe the most he would hear from Coach again would be Mama’s assurances that Coach loved him. Whatever. Today was not the day to deal with that.

Neither was tomorrow. Tomorrow was the parade, and Jack had already said he wanted Bitty up on top of the double-decker bus with the rest of team and their families. His parents would no doubt see pictures.

It was fine.

After that he could sleep. For days, possibly. Then maybe try again. He’d see how he felt.

Bitty faceplanted on the bed, his head landing somewhere near Jack’s hip. Jack scooted down and he scooted up until they faced each other in a loose embrace.

“You’re tired,” Jack said.

Finally, Bitty smiled. “And you’re a Stanley Cup champion,” he chirped, leaving the “Captain Obvious” part unsaid.


	28. BRB

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty misses his Internet friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Based on OMG Check Please[04.05](http://checkpleasecomic.com/comic/4-05-01)._

Bitty looked at his laptop.

He almost reached for it. Then he dropped his hand.

Maybe not yet.

Setting his social media accounts to private the day after the Falcs won the cup had been one of the hardest things about the summer.

Sure, he was living his best life, living with Jack, hanging with Tater and the rest of the Falconers. Maybe he didn’t join Jack for all of his training, but what he had done worked wonders, if he did say so himself.

He’d managed a part-time job, but it was only a few hours a week, and it was no pressure, since he knew he’d be fine if he had to leave it.

It was kind of a shame, really, that he’d had to shut down his vlog just when YouTube was starting to pay off for him.

But after the comments he got in the hours after #TheKiss (and yes, he thought of it with the hashtag), it didn’t take much convincing from the Falcs PR staff for him to disappear off the interwebs for a while.

Some were just laughable – the idea that he could turn Jack gay? Or that, “now that Jack was gay,” he wouldn’t be able to play hockey? Jack had always been bi, not gay, since well before he ever met Bitty, and he could play hockey just fine. Some were offensive – strings of slurs, or suggestions about what they wanted Jack to do to them. But some were downright scary, and Providence wasn’t that big of a city. Samwell was even smaller. If someone really wanted to find Bitty, they probably could.

It was lucky that Bitty logged off before Jack came down from the euphoria of the cup win, even better that no negative repercussions had infringed on his celebration. The people they met face to face, at the parade or other official events or just going to the supermarket, were nearly all supportive and kind. The hateful ones spewed their spite from behind the anonymity of their keyboards.

Bitty thought it was like stepping through the looking glass: All these years, he had used the Internet to find support, a haven from the harassment and bullying he faced every day in Georgia. His friends in Internetland were the first people who heard him say the words, “I’m gay,” even if it wasn’t in person, and for a time they were his lifeline.

Now people were all smiles to his face, but too many spit venom at him through the screen. He wasn’t sure it was better.

It was definitely better to be Bitty circa 2016 than Dicky circa 2012. He was out, he had friends who accepted him and cared for him, he had Jack, the most beautiful man – inside and out – that he could imagine being with.

It would be nice to tell all those early followers that he made it, that everything was okay.

Maybe now that summer was over, he could think about going back. Maybe just his vlog, with no announcement. School was about to start, which meant apple pie and hockey season couldn’t be far behind.

He would have loved to share the story of Jack’s Cup Day and the fire at the Haus, which at least gave Bitty an idea for how to get rid of the swamp thing masquerading as a couch. He still had to introduce the waffles. He’d spent the summer perfecting some new recipes, and, well, some of those people had been watching him since he was 14. He wanted them to be able to see him now.

He looked again at his laptop, and the webcam stowed on his shelf. Maybe next week.


	29. Samwell Varsity Captains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty calls Jack after the captains meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by episode 4-06

“Jack, you should have met them! They were so nice! Shruti – she’s the rugby captain – and Sharon from ultimate and and Edgar from volleyball, and even Chad L. – they made me feel so welcome!”

Bitty took a breath and adjusted his earbuds while he labeled his new notebooks.

“I mean, I know you and Ransom and Holster never went to the captains’ meetings, but I figured I need all the help I can get being a captain. You probably had the whole captain thing down already. And Ransom and Holster – well, they had each other, I guess.”

“Haha. I guess,” Jack said. “But you’ve been a captain before too.”

“Of a rec league team!” Bitty said. “That’s nowhere near the same thing! I mean, I’m pretty sure they made me captain so I’d keep bringing the snacks, y’know? It wasn’t because of my play, or my leadership, or anything like that.”

“You sure about that, bud?”

“But you know what? They think the hockey team is, well, kind of insular and unwelcoming. I don’t know where they could have gotten that idea! Y’all were so kind to me when I was a frog.”

“ _They_ all were kind to you,” Jack said. “I mean, I wasn’t very welcoming. I know I already apologized – but you have to admit I had something to apologize for. And Ransom and Holster could be, well, kind of a lot. Especially if they didn’t basically adopt you the first time they saw you.”

“I guess,” Bitty said, moving on to sorting supplies into his desk organizer. Pencils in one compartment, pens in another. Paperclips and sticky notes in their own places. “It’s funny – when I got here, I saw all of you as these big, hulking, bro-y athletes, and I was terrified to come out to y’all. My hands shook so much when I told Shitty-I-will-affirm-all-sexualities I was gay that I couldn’t use my note cards! And the team couldn’t have been better.

“Now I find out that lots of Samwell teams have LGBT captains! And the were just waiting for someone from SMH to show up!”

He considered a moment.

“Jack, is that why you didn’t? Because you didn’t want anyone to associate you with them, because people would think you were gay?”

Jack was silent for a moment.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Bitty said. “God knows I was so far in the closet at home that I might as well have been living in Narnia, and if I knew someone was gay, I probably would have stayed as far away as possible.”

“It wasn’t that,” Jack said. “But it wasn’t any better. It’s just that, when I came to play at Samwell, the NHL was always my goal. I mean, I wanted my degree, but I also wanted to prove myself as a hockey player. And the other teams at Samwell – they’re not really on the same level. Hockey is the only Division I sport at Samwell. It’s just kind of a different world.”

“Maybe,” Bitty said. “But not everyone on the team is looking to go pro.”

“No, I’m not saying it was right,” Jack said. “I probably should have made an effort to get to know them. I don’t know why Ransom and Holster didn’t – I hope they weren’t just following my example.”

“They made their own decisions,” Bitty said. “Anyway, I think we’re going to have a kegster and invite all the other teams. But a Haus full of athletes – can you imagine how many pies I’ll need?”

Jack chuckled.

“A lot, I’m sure,” Jack said. “Sounds like your kind of party. I’m glad.”

“Glad?”

“That you reached out, and found more people to support you,” Jack said. “I kind of wish I’d had the courage to try. But it’s great for more people to see how great you are.”


	30. Bitty Hears What the Haus Hears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Inspired by comic[04-07](http://checkpleasecomic.com/comic/4-07-01)._

Bitty closed the window and shook his head.

“Bitty hears was the Haus hears.” Really.

Did those silly waffles not know that this old ramshackle old house was anything but airtight? Or soundroof for that matter? Bitty could hear every word they said when they were on the back porch, just outside the kitchen window.

Of course, he may have had his earbuds in, and he may have been wiggling his hips to music that was playing only in his head – not in his ears.

Still, he supposed that he did hear more of what went on in the Haus than most anyone else. Part of it was a function of just being there more. What was the point of going to the library to study when he could get the same work done at the kitchen table while scones were baking or a pie was cooling. And, if he was lucky, and if the times worked out, he could even have his boyfriend on Skype.

Really, it was so much better than the beginning of last year, when he had to be careful about even talking to Jack on the phone around the rest of the team in case he slipped and mentioned Jack’s name.

But all that time in the kitchen – well, the boys knew they’d be likely to find him there. And if he was there, they’d likely find something good to eat, too. And a listening ear, a cup of coffee or tea (or hot chocolate – some of these boys had insatiable sweet tooths (sweet teeth?)) and a cookie or piece of pie; well, really, when it came to encouraging people to talk, Bitty thought he could teach the CIA a thing or two.

It was a strategy he had learned at his Mama’s knee, and his MooMaw’s kitchen table, where he heard all the neighborhood and family gossip. Even when the neighbors gave him knowing looks and saying, “Little pitchers have big ears,” he heard about how Elsie Travers had kicked Doug out after a few too many nights working late (a phrase that was delivered with arched eyebrows and dripping sarcasm) and how his cousin Donna was in a family way.

It was also where he first learned that it was wrong for girls to like other girls (as his Aunt Marge said Ms. Jones, the girls’ PE teacher did), and even worse for boys to like other boys. He hadn’t really understood that at first; why shouldn’t he like Tommy and James and Sean? But by the time the boys in his class started teasing each other about crushes on girls – and teasing him about baking and and ice skating – he had the picture. Fortunately, he’d made enough skating friends, and Iater Internet friends, who thought differently that he knew the old Madison biddies were wrong. It was hard to really believe it, though, until he got to Samwell and saw people being open about it.

No matter how wrong those ladies were about gay people, they knew that a kitchen was the best place to talk. The kitchen, after all, was where Bitty finally came to see Jack as friend, and then acknowledged that he would like even more than that. It was where Chowder introduced him to Famer, and where he forged an alliance with Dex over pie dough.

It was where these waffles would learn to come for comfort and support. He’d make sure they had a good meal before the hazing moved to the ice. Really, if they knew anything about him, they should have memorized the “Single Ladies” dance already.

Working in the kitchen, Bitty could also hear when things weren’t going well with Dex and Nursey – Nurse wasn’t light of foot at the best of time, and was give to dramatic stomping when he was upset – and when Ollie and Wicks returned from class and headed to the attic to hang out together.

Bitty pulled his apple pie from the oven and set it on the windowsill to cool, raising the sash a few inches to allow the cool breeze in.

When his phone rang, he pressed the button on his earbuds to answer.

“Hi there, sweet pea. How was your day?”

“I just fined Hops for talking about us out on the porch.”

“No, I don’t suppose anyone would overhear. But Haze-by-Hazewest was coming up on Monday, and he was speculating that the activities were designed to encourage people to respect our privacy. Now, you know as well as I do that those boys have to learn to respect their elders. We can’t tolerate a lack of discipline. That’s a lesson I learned from Coach as a very young boy.”

“But you know what Bully said? He said ‘Bitty hears what the Haus hears.’ Did you ever hear anything so ridiculous?”


	31. Captains' talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty and Jack talk on their way to Haus 2.0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on episode 4.08

“Wait -- so he actually said he was moving to the basement?”

Jack closed the hatch on Bitty’s overnight bag, two pie boxes resting flat on the floor and three bags of groceries.

“Uh huh,” Bitty said. “He was headed downstairs with tools, too, so he’s probably gonna do it.”

Bitty climbed in Jack’s SUV and buckled himself in.

“Apparently Nursey invaded his fortress of solitude, and that was the last straw,” Bitty said.

Jack slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, pulling out into Jason Street.

“Do think maybe you should do something about it?” Jack asked. “For team cohesion?”

“Like what?” Bitty asked. “Insist Dex move back so they can fight more?”

“I don’t know,” Jack asked. “When I was captain, that’s what I had Shitty for. And you, I guess, when it came to the frogs.”

“And I have me and Chowder, who has started tuning them out, too,” Bitty said. “I think maybe everyone just needs to give Dex some time and space.”

“You think that’ll work?” Jack asked.

“Maybe,” Bitty said. “The way I see it, Dex kind of reminds me of Coach. My dad, I mean. He’s a good guy, likes people as a concept maybe, but needs his time alone. The biggest fights they ever had was when Mama was on about something and wouldn’t leave him alone.”

“So you think they’re like your parents?” Jack said. “Because they’ve been fighting since they got to Samwell. Hard to see a love connection there.”

“I didn’t mean like that,” Bitty protested. “I mean, they clearly have some kind of a connection. They play together even better than they used to.”

“Chemistry on the ice doesn’t always mean chemistry off it,” Jack said.

“But if they were indifferent to each other, why would they keep fighting?” Bitty said. “They would just leave each other alone.”

“But they share a room,” Jack said.

“I know,” Bitty said. “And I know I’m responsible for that. But I really thought that they’d work things out. And I still think they will.”

“With Poindexter in the basement?”

“Maybe,” Bitty said. “Maybe Nursey will clean up his act, and Dex will move back.”

“Nursey needs to clean up his act? Dex is the one that stormed out.”

“Well, clean up in general,” Bitty said. “I told you about the pie, right? I can see why that upset Dex. And he actually did barge into space that Dex specifically built to be alone.”

“Maybe Dex is better off not sharing,” Jack said. “See how it turns out on the ice, eh?”

“It’s not all about the ice, Mr. Zimmermann!”

“So this was an attempt at matchmaking?”

Eric let his head flop back against the seat.

“They don’t need to be _romantic_ ,” Eric said. “I just wanted them to be friends. And if Nursey can learn to give Dex his space, and if Dex can -- can --”

“I knew you liked Dex better,” Jack chirped. 

“He helps me in the kitchen,” Bitty said.

“And he reminds you of your dad,” Jack said. “Should I be jealous?”

“Hush, you. Dex needs to learn to give Nursey what he needs.”

“Which is?”

“An audience,” Bitty said. “Someone to appreciate his look, and his chill and his poetry.”

“Maybe you should tell them that?” Jack said.

“It won’t work,” Bitty said. “It never works when someone on the team tries to butt in like that.” “Is that what you think? What about us?”

“What about us? No one butted in to help us get along,” Bitty said.

“Bits, who are we going to see?”

“Shitty? And Lardo? And Ransom and Holster?”

“And all of them made the case that I had to treat you better,” Jack said. 

“Did it make you like me?”

“No, but they made me realized I had to figure out a way to work with you, so I started the checking practices,” Jack said, reaching over to interlace his fingers with Bitty’s. “Without that, we wouldn’t have this. So yeah, I think it worked.”

Bitty gave his hand a squeeze.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll talk to them. Once they calm down.”


	32. Whiskey. Neat.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whiskey can't understand why Bitty can't leave him alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on OMG Check Please episode 4.09. A tad angsty.

Ugh.

Connor would know that hair anywhere.

Shiny and blond and perfectly coiffed, and five and a half feet off the floor. And on top of a face that was looking right at him.

Fuck. Why couldn’t it be anyone but Bitty? He knew some of the freshmen were here -- that’s why he and Brian were down in the corner in the basement instead of dancing upstairs. But at least they hadn’t been totally brainwashed yet. Sure, there were some douches on the LAX team, but pretty much the whole school would agree the hockey team was just as bad. And not all of them were like that.

No one on the hockey team would he happy about his relationship with Brian, Connor knew that. Even Tango would ask more questions than usual. But at least Tango would listen to the answers, instead of just repeating “FFFUCCK the LAX bros!” at the top of his lungs.

Why couldn’t Bitty just leave him alone anyway?

Fuck. Bitty saw him. Connor could see the moment Bitty’s face fell in … disappointment?

“I have to go,” Connor muttered to Brian, pushing against the wall and heading for the stairs.

He pushed his way through the crowd on the dance floor and the hockey freshmen who were gathered on the porch.

He could hear Bitty behind him, saying his name. The first “Whiskey” was tentative, but the tone was turning, angry maybe. Probably. Bitty grabbed his arm.

“Whiskey, wait,” Bitty was saying. “It’s okay. I didn’t -- or I’m not --”

Connor didn’t wait to hear what Bitty wasn’t. He already knew what Bitty was: a busybody who couldn’t leave anyone alone. Who acted like the team mom more than the captain. Who wanted everyone’s devotion.

Wasn’t having Jack Zimmermann follow him around enough for him? 

Connor hadn’t come to Samwell to find another mother. He didn’t need that. He came to play hockey, and hopefully get enough attention to get drafted. And to get his degree to make Aunt Maureen happy, just in case the hockey didn’t work out.

Finding Brian was … not expected. Not unwelcome, especially once it became clear that Brian didn’t want his team to know about their relationship. But Bitty wasn’t happy unless he knew everything about everyone, it seemed like.

Look, it wasn’t like Connor thought gay guys couldn’t play hockey. Clearly he knew they could, because -- not to be full of himself or anything, but he was the best player he ever knew, at least until he came to Samwell and met Zimmermann and the other Falconers who hung around sometimes. And frankly, not all of them were better than him.

But he wasn’t Jack Zimmermann. No one knew his name when he was 12 years old, and no team was going to take a chance on him if there was a whiff of scandal about him. And even Zimmermann hadn’t come out until he led his team to a Stanley Cup win in his first season.

It wasn’t even that he didn’t like Bitty, or respect him as a player and captain. Bitty was wicked fast, and smart about hockey, and he kept the team working hard toward their goal.

If he wasn’t great at the physical aspect of the game, or if made too many baked goods, well, Connor could deal with that.

Connor let himself into his dorm room, sighed with relief when he saw that his roommate wasn’t there, and stripped off his hoodie. 

If only there was a way to make Bitty understand that Connor just wanted to be left alone.


	33. “I can’t sleep - can I stay here?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty goes looking for comfort after the Wellies are eliminated from the Frozen Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filling an anonymous prompt from this [prompt list](https://justlookfrightened.tumblr.com/post/183739099035/angstfluff-prompt-list).  
> Originally published on [Tumblr](https://justlookfrightened.tumblr.com/post/183751618760/i-cant-sleep-can-i-stay-here-pre-zimbits).

Bitty rolled over again. The room was too quiet. All he could hear was the ventilation system kicking on and turning off.

Or maybe that was too loud.

The hotel sheets were scratchy, too, and the mattress was too soft. It didn’t have all the familiar lumps of his bed at the Haus, either.

Chowder was Bitty’s assigned roommate, but he had disappeared shortly after a dispirited team dinner, most likely sleeping in a frog pile with Dex and Nursey.

That was okay; Chowder deserved all the support he could get. He was blaming himself for their loss, even though everyone told him it wasn’t his fault. Bitty tried to get that through to him; Chowder had just nodded and given him a watery smile that might have been sadder than full-on tears.

Bitty wasn’t sure trying to stop Dex and Nursey from blaming each other all night was the best way to get over it. Maybe the two D-men would be so focused on cheering Chowder up that they’d put their own differences aside. One could hope.

It definitely wasn’t Chowder’s fault. There were things each of them could’ve done better. If Bitty had ever learned to take a hit properly, if he could’ve skated through that check in the second, maybe he could’ve held onto the puck a second or two longer, maybe he could’ve gotten it to Jack, maybe Jack could’ve scored and changed the whole game.

He hoped Jack knew how much the team appreciated him; they never would have been in a position to go to the Frozen Four at all without him.

Jack had Shitty, at least. Shitty wouldn’t let him mope all night.

And Jack had done everything he could. If only Bitty could have been good enough to make a difference.

Lord. Bitty was moping.

Maybe if he wasn’t alone. He could bring a blanket and pillow and sleep on Jack and Shitty’s floor. Shitty wouldn’t let him mope either.

Bitty got out of bed and pulled a T-shirt and gym shorts on over his boxer briefs. He wrote a quick note in case Chowder came back — “Visiting Jack and Shitty. Come find me if you want company.” — and bundled his blanket and pillow together with Señor Bun hidden in the middle.

He grabbed his phone and charger too and slipped into the hallway.

Bitty went three doors down and stood in front of Jack and Shitty’s room, listening. There was no noise coming from inside. Maybe they were sleeping?

He tapped lightly at the door, just in case they were awake. He was turning to go back to his room when the door swung open and Jack was standing there.

A laptop open on the far bed offered the only light in the room. Maybe Shitty was asleep in the other bed?

“Sorry,” Bittle said. “Is Shitty sleeping? I don’t want to disturb anyone.”

“No,” Jack said. “He went to hang out with Lardo when I said I wanted to go to bed.”

“Sorry,” Bitty said again. “I’ll just go.”

“Bittle,” Jack said. “You obviously wanted something. What is it?”

He looked at the bundle of bedding in Bitty’s arms.

“Chowder’s with the other frogs and I can’t sleep,” Bitty said. “Can I stay here?”

Jack stepped back and motioned for Bitty to sit on the far bed. The one that was rumpled. His bed.

He closed the door and moved the laptop to the desk, but he didn’t turn any lights.

When he sat across from Bitty on the other bed, he said, “Anything specific bothering you?”

“No,” Bitty said.

Jack just looked at him.

“I just keep thinking that if I played better, we could have won the game,” Bitty finally said. “If I’d gotten you the puc k—”

“Bittle, no,” Jack said, getting up and coming to sit next to Bitty. “You played great.”

“You mean for a five-foot-six boy from Georgia who didn’t take up hockey until high school,” Bitty scoffed. “And still can’t take a check.”

“No, I mean you played great,” Jack said. “Are you casting doubt on all the time we spent teaching you to take a hit? The whole team played well. It just didn’t happen for us today. If we played again tomorrow, maybe it would.”

“You believe that?” Bitty asked. “Because you played great too.”

“I’m trying to,” Jack said. “Come on, let’s get some sleep. We have to get to the airport early tomorrow. Lie down.”

He pulled the covers further back for Bitty.

“But this is your bed,” Bitty said. “What are you going to do when Shitty comes back?”

“You’re small,” Jack said. “We’ll both fit. Unless you’d rather not. I can sleep with Shitty. He won’t mind.”

“No, it’s fine,” Bitty said, scooting to the far side of the bed.

Jack tossed Bitty’s blanket and pillow onto Shitty’s bed, and Señor Bun tumbled to the floor. Jack stooped to pick him up while Bitty thought about hiding his head under the covers.

But Jack just held Bun out and said, “Do you want him to sleep with?”

“Yes, please, and no chirping.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Jack said, handing Bun over and plugging Bitty’s phone in next to his own.

He did something with his phone — sent a text, maybe? — and finally lay down next to Bitty.

“Bittle,” he whispered. “You did good. I’m proud of you.”


	34. “You make me happy”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nursey and Dex contemplate living apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filling an anonymous prompt from this [prompt list. Originally published on ](https://justlookfrightened.tumblr.com/post/183739099035/angstfluff-prompt-list)[Tumblr](https://justlookfrightened.tumblr.com/post/183785503280/92-for-nurseydex).

“Bitty offered me his dibs.”

Dex was leaning against Nursey’s desk, looking down at Nursey, who had pushed his chair away from the essay he was working on.

“What’d you say?” Nursey asked.

“I didn’t,” Dex said. “I mean, I said thank you, but I didn’t say yes or no.”

“You’re seriously thinking about it?” Nursey’s voice was getting higher, the way it did when he was definitely Not Chill.

Dex shrugged. “Well, yeah.”

“But Dexy, I thought we were doing better?” Nursey said.

“We are,” Dex said. “We’ve managed to sleep in the same room for three months straight. But Nurse – what happened last fall – we can’t do that again.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Nursey said.

Dex looked at him.

“Yeah, it was so good that I had to build myself a room in the basement.”

“You didn’t _have_ to,” Nursey said.

“Did you survive the first semester?” Dex said. “Because if I didn’t get out, I might have done something we’d both regret.”

“But you came back,” Nursey said.

“It got cold downstairs,” Dex said.

“When do you have to let Bitty know?”

“I said I’d tell him tomorrow,” Dex said. He picked up his laptop and bookbag and left Nursey to work on his essay.

After dinner, Nursey came into the room to find Dex reshelving his books.

“Why didn’t you say yes right away?” he asked.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you tell Bitty yes right away?” Nursey said. “If living with me was so miserable.”

“It’s not miserable _now_ ,” Dex said. “And I’m pretty sure you weren’t happy either. Otherwise, why were you trying to drive me out?”

“I wasn’t –”

“You hid pie under my bed,” Dex said. “You treated me like your butler. You left your dirty clothes all over the room, and when I specifically asked you to give me my space – with walls and everything – you waltzed right in. I need things to be neater than you do – I’m sure my constant nagging isn’t any fun for you. In fact, I know because you told me so.”

“But you still didn’t say yes,” Nursey said. “And I wasn’t trying to get you to leave.”

“Nurse, you’re messy, but not that messy,” Dex said. “And you don’t usually have that much trouble respecting boundaries. And I know you’ve tried to respect mine since I moved back upstairs. But think about not having to do that. It’s not like I wouldn’t come and fix your crap when you break it.”

“It’s not up to me,” Nursey said. “You’re the one Bitty asked.”

“Because he feels bad about the way this all happened,” Dex said. “Lardo was going to give her dibs to you until I threw a fit. He’s the one who suggested the flip, and he’s the one who said the way it landed meant we had to share. If he’d stayed out of it, this would be your room and I’d be somewhere else, and he would have given me his dibs this year. So he’s trying to do right by both of us.”

“What if I want us to keep rooming together?”

Dex sat back from his bookcase and scraped a hand over his hair.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why didn’t you tell Bitty yes right away?”

“Because I wanted to ask you first,” Dex said. “I thought it would make you happy to get me out of your space.”

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Nursey asked.

“Get what?” Dex said. “Is this another let’s-show-how-dense-Dex-is thing?”

“No,” Nursey said. “I don’t do that.”

At Dex’s incredulous look, he added, “Much.”

“I’ll bite,” Dex said. “What don’t I get?”

“Dex, you make me happy,” Nurse said. “I like living with you. I like the way you impose order on the chaos I create. And I like being able to get a reaction from you. Maybe I do that too much.”

“Maybe?” Dex deadpanned.

“But your ears turn such a lovely shade of pink,” Nursey said.

“Shut up,” Dex said, knowing there was nothing he could do about the fact that his ears were definitely pink.

“I like living with you,” Nursey said. “If it was up to me, you’d stay here. But I know you might not feel the same.”

“The problem is,” Dex started, then hesitated. “The problem is, that I like living with you, too. Despite your messiness and tendency to pick at me. I feel like maybe I like you a little too much, you know?”

“Like me a little too much?” Nursey said in a whisper. “Like how?”

“Like, I like you,” Dex said. “And that makes it hard for me to live with you, because I know you don’t think of me like that.”

“How do you know?” Nurse said, a wide grin on his face. “Because you know what happens when you assume something.”

“Shut up,” Dex said, but he was grinning too.

“Make me,” Nursey said.


	35. "You look like you could use a hug"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty and Jack have a late-night conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt from [leahlisabeth](http://leahlisabeth.tumblr.com/) from this [prompt list](https://justlookfrightened.tumblr.com/post/183739099035/angstfluff-prompt-list).

Bitty shuffled his feet into his slides and slipped out into the hall.

He should be asleep. It was past midnight and they had practice at seven and being tired clearly was not going to help.

It seemed like the rest of the Haus had the same idea; he could hear faint snores from the attic and, even from the second floor, the fan on the old fridge kicking on.

Maybe he’d only lived here for a few weeks, but he loved this old Haus. It was shabby and worn, to be sure, but not quite falling-down-around-the-ears yet. And it felt like home. It felt like home last year before he even lived here, what with having a functioning kitchen (at least after he deep cleaned it) and being filled with people who both liked him and accepted him for who was.

In Bitty’s experience, those things didn’t always go together. Plenty of people in Georgia liked him — relatives, friends of his parents, teachers, even some of his peers — but he didn’t dare breathe a word about liking boys to them. The ones who did think he was gay, well, to them he was only a target for abuse.

What would happen if he got kicked off the team? Would he have to leave the Haus? Would he be able to keep his scholarship to stay at Samwell at all? He was pretty sure that if he got injured his scholarship would be safe. What about a mental health issue?

He was perseverating or catastrophizing or one of those things the therapist in the Samwell counseling office told him about last year. He’d gone at Hall’s suggestion, and kept going for the maximum six sessions, but when they were up, there was no way for him to continue without getting insurance involved, and that would mean telling his parents and … nope.

Maybe he could go back for another six sessions this year? In the meantime he could make a pie. Maybe that would soothe him enough that he could sleep at least a few hours.

He pushed himself away from his door, tiptoed past Jack’s room, and made his way quietly down the stairs. There was still a flat of blueberries on the counter calling his name.

Bitty flipped the kitchen light on and took two steps towards the fridge before he realized he wasn’t alone. Jack was sitting at the table, apparently just staring at the mug in front of him. Or not, since it was dark until Bitty got there.

“Jesus, Jack, give a person a heart attack, why don’t you?” Bitty said, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal before opening the refrigerator.

Jack looked up and tried for a smile (maybe? He wouldn’t grimace on purpose). “Sorry, Bittle. Couldn’t sleep. What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep either,” Bitty said, unwrapping the butter and starting to cut it into small cubes.

“You’re making a pie? Now?”

“It helps me think,” Bitty said. “Or not think, as the case may be.”

He worked in silence for a moment and then said, “You know Hall and Murray want to cut me?”

There. He said it out loud.

“I know they’re considering it,” Jack allowed. “I don’t think they really want to. They’re worried about you.”

“And threatening my place on the team is supposed to help?”

“They’re also worried about the team,” Jack said. “Would it help if we did checking practice again?”

Bitty considered while he cut the butter and flour together.

“Maybe,” he said. “I might go back to the counseling office too.”

“If you need help finding a therapist, I could ask mine for recommendations,” Jack said.

Because of course he probably had a sports psychologist on speed dial, Bitty thought. But that was unfair and he knew it.

He looked over at Jack while he filled a small bowl with ice and water. He was still slumped at the table, not actually looking at Bitty.

“We’ll see,” Bitty said. “What about you? What’s got you hitting the Sleepytime tea tonight?”

Jack shook his head, and Bitty thought that was all the answer he would get.

But then Jack said, “Did you ever work so hard to get what you wanted, and then when you got close, wonder if you really wanted it after all?”

He paused and shook his head again.

“That’s not right. You do want it — you really, really want it — but you don’t want everything that comes with it?”

Bitty knew he didn’t know everything about Jack, probably didn’t know the half of what brought him to Samwell to begin with, but thought Jack was probably talking about a professional hockey career. And yeah, getting close to achieving a dream could be scary.

“Oh, honey, you look like you could use a hug,” Bitty said, abandoning his dough to stand in front of Jack. “And I could use one too.”

Jack stood and stepped into Bitty’s open arms. It was the first time Jack had ever hugged him without hockey pads on, Bitty realized, and then tried to banish the thought. He couldn’t not notice how warm and firm Jack’s embrace was, or how good he smelled.

Bitty released him and stepped back before that became a problem.

“Get some sleep now,” he said.

“You too,” Jack said. “Do you have to finish that tonight?”

Bitty looked at his dough. It should chill before he rolled it out anyway.

“Not really,” Bitty said. “It can wait ‘til morning.”

“After practice.”

“Yes, Captain,” Bitty said with a roll of his eyes. “After practice.”

He tore off two sheets of plastic wrap for the dough and put the disks in the refrigerator while Jack rinsed his mug.

“You’re not going to bed until I do, are you?” Bitty said.

“Nope,” Jack said. “And you know how much harder practice is if I’m tired and cranky.”


	36. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re safe with me.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Bitty prepare for Bitty's high school reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From an anonymous prompt from [this list](https://justlookfrightened.tumblr.com/post/183739099035/angstfluff-prompt-list).  
> CW: Discussion of bullying, implied homophobia, in the past but talked about

“This was a mistake,” Bitty said, looping his bow tie around neck in front of the bathroom mirror.

“What? Getting a hotel room?” Jack called from the bedroom, where Bitty had laid out Jack’s favorite navy blue suit and a lighter blue tie. “Because it was your idea to leave Michael with your parents and for us to stay in a hotel.”

Jack came into the bathroom and approached Bitty from behind.

Bitty watched in the mirror as Jack, wearing his trousers and with his shirt still unbuttoned, pulled Bitty to his chest and bent to nuzzle Bitty’s neck until Bitty giggled.

Then he made eye contact with Bitty in the mirror and said, “And I have to say I entirely approve.”

“It’s not much of a hotel,” Bitty said. “We could have stayed in a nicer place in Atlanta.”

“It’s fine,” Jack said, taking in the generic chain hotel bathroom in a glance. “We’ve stayed in far worse places. And neither of us wanted to be that far away when we left Michael for the night for the first time.”

“You’re right,” Bitty said. “And it was nice to have time alone this afternoon, even if it was in a Comfort Inn just outside of Madison.”

Jack tugged at the end of the tie that still hung loose around Bitty’s neck.

“So what’s the mistake?” he asked. “Going with the bow tie? Because that’s kind of your thing.”

“Haha,”Bitty said, pulling the tie from Jack’s fingers and expertly twisting the two ends into a bow. “I meant going at all.”

“Nervous about your high school reunion?” Jack said, leading the way back to the bedroom where the rest of his suit was. “I think that’s normal, isn’t it? I mean, what if someone is more successful than you? What if your crush grew up to have his own food media empire and married a wealthy and famous professional athlete? Oh, wait, that’s you.”

“You have a high opinion of us,” Bitty said.

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” Jack countered. “Nervous you’re going to gloat too much? Because I kind of thought that’s why we came — so you, without ever doing anything out of line for a well-mannered southern gentleman, could show everyone who thought you’d never amount to anything how wrong they were. And I promise, I’m here for all your trophy husband needs.”

Bitty smiled briefly. “That’s a lot of it,” he said. “Most of it, really. But I guess I also wanted to prove to myself that I could face these people with my head held high. I used to be so afraid of them. In some ways, I guess I still am.”

“Did they hurt you?” Jack said. “You don’t talk much about your high school — only about your hockey team. What happened in school?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Bitty said. “Not like back in Monroe. You know about how I got locked in the utility closet overnight there?”

“Only that Rans and Holster said it happened,” Jack said. “They wanted us to be careful you didn’t feel trapped around the team.”

“Well, we moved that summer. Coach got the job here, and Mama wanted to leave after what happened, and the kids at this school were better. But one of the boys from Monroe — Bobby Johnston — he transferred the same year, and he told everyone what happened, so I couldn’t really fly under the radar and hope no one noticed me.

“Anyway, some of them would push me into lockers or tell me they were gonna lock me up because that’s what should happen to … to people like me. No one did anything besides pushing and shoving and talking mean, though.”

By the time Bitty was done, Jack had sunk down on the bed next to him, shirt half-buttoned, and slipped an arm around his shoulders.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Jack said.

“Why?” Bitty said. “It was in the past, and when I got to Samwell I wanted to leave it there.”

“Maybe it would have helped me understand you better,” Jack said. “Maybe talking about it would help you understand what happened, and that it wasn’t your fault.”

“Maybe,” Bitty said. “But I didn’t want you to think I was weak. Especially at the beginning. I was already fainting on the ice.”

“Never, mon lapin,” Jack said, taking his hand. “We don’t have to go tonight if you don’t want. But you don’t have to be scared. I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re safe with me.”

Bitty laced his fingers with Jack’s and looked at their joined hands.

“Trophy husband and bodyguard? I think that’ll do. And I do want to go show off a bit — my old friends will be happy for me, and everyone else can suck lemons.”

“Then I’d better finish getting ready,” Jack said, standing.

Bitty held onto his hand a moment longer.

“Thanks, Jack,” he said.

“No need, Bits,” Jack said. “I wouldn’t miss it. Help me with my tie?”


	37. “Please don’t walk out of that door.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nursey needs help, and waxes philosophical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filling an anonymous prompt from [this list](https://justlookfrightened.tumblr.com/post/183739099035/angstfluff-prompt-list).

“You have to at least try, Nursey,” Dex said, throwing himself backwards in his chair. He scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. “You can’t expect me to just do all the work because you’re too chill to be bothered.”

Nursey sat on the bottom bunk, looking artfully tousled, like some magazine art director’s idea of “just rolled out of bed.” Well, if that included clothes that somehow looked casual and expensive at the same time.

“I am trying,” Nursey said, sounding entirely too calm. “I just don’t see why this has to be so hard.”

“It’s not hard if you just pay a little attention,” Dex said, shoving his chair back and standing up. “I have work to do. Why don’t you try thinking about this?”

Nursey sat up straight, his chill deserting him.

“Please don’t walk out of that door,” he said. “Dex, I’m begging you. I need you.”

That was really not fair.

“You really don’t,” Dex argued.

“Yes, I do,” Nursey said. “I can’t get this to work on my own. I don’t speak computer.”

“No, because that would be too easy,” Dex said.

“And this is too hard,” Nursey argued.

“I could teach my eight-year-old niece to write a program like this,” Dex said. “All you’re asking is for a simple guessing game, where the computer picks a number and the player guesses it, and the computer counts how many tries it takes. That’s it.”

“But saying, ‘Please, Mr. Computer, let me guess a number’ isn’t working.”

“That’s because you have to break the task down,” Dex said. “Set a range, get a random number in that range, prompt a user to guess, compare their guess to the number …”

“And you say poetry is complicated,” Nursey said. “It is,” Dex said. “With fifteen different layers of meaning in a three-line poem, according to you English majors.”

“If you’re talking about haiku, they’re Japanese, at least originally,” Nursey said. “And they use the senses to convey a meaning, usually. Poetry is about going beyond what’s on the surface, because the most important stuff is deeper.”

“But if it’s important, why not just say it?” Dex said. “Why try to hide it?”

“It’s not about trying to hide things,” Nursey said. “It’s about conveying more meanings.”

“Right. And this is about conveying one meaning, clearly and in order. What’s your first line going to be?”

Nursey thought for a moment and then typed, showing it to Dex for his approval.

“Funny how you could ask that about a poem, too,” Nursey mused.

“Think about your assignment,” Dex said. “Not poetry.”

“Y’know, I could have helped with your lit class last semester,” Nursey sauid. “How come you never asked?”

“Because I didn’t want you plumbing my untold depths?”

Nursey snickered.

“You realize that’s a double entendre?” he asked.

Dex felt his face flush. “That’s what I don’t like,” he said. “How one thing can mean different things at the same time. How are you supposed to know what it’s supposed to mean?”

“It means what it means,” Nursey said. “To you, to the author, to other people who read it. But don’t worry, bro. I’m pretty sure you meant it both ways.”

Dex had to think – he didn’t want Nursey plumbing his depths – and colored more deeply.

“Sorry,” Nursey said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay,” Dex said. He nodded at Nursey’s laptop. “You’re making progress.”

Nursey wrote another line, then turned to Dex again.

“People don’t exist just on the surface,” Nursey said. “I mean, you’re not just a conservative lobster fisherman from Maine. I know that. But I know there’s probably things I don’t know about you too. And I know there’s things you don’t know about me.”

“I know that,” Dex said. “But you’ve heard the saying, ‘If someone shows you they’re an asshole, believe them.’ You don’t have to read into things too deep.”

“Maya Angelou,” Nursey said. “But she didn’t say ‘asshole.’ The quote is, ‘When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.’ So score one for the poets.”

“But that’s not poetry, that’s just paying attention,” Dex said.

“But that’s what poetry is,” Nursey said. “It’s paying attention, even to the things that aren’t said in words. Like … take Bitty. Pretty open guy, right?”

“Right,” Dex nodded.

“He’s a gay hockey player who figure skated and likes to bake,” Nursey said. “He’d tell anyone all that, right?”

“Right,” Dex said. “Well, now that his parents know.”

“And the team knows he was so scared of checking he used to faint when anyone touched him on the ice.”

“Well, yeah,” Dex said.

“So how do you know that he’s both open-minded and judgmental as hell, at least when it comes to things like manners and food?” Nursey said. “Or that his heart is bigger than his body? He would never say that.”

“He doesn’t have to,” Dex said. “It’s obvious from knowing him. None of that’s hidden, not frpm anyone who’s spent any time with him.”

“But he doesn’t have to say it,” Nursey said. “Like I have to tell this computer that if someone picks the wrong number, it’s wrong.”

“But the computer’s not judging or drawing any kind of conclusion about you,” Dex said. “That’s not what it does. It needs you to give it direction, and direction works best when it’s clear. Like this program is now.”

Nursey closed the laptop and pushed it away.

“Thanks, Dexy,” he said. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You’re good at giving clear directions.”

“Glad I could help,” Dex said.

“And for what it’s worth,” Nurse said, “I know a lot more than that about you. I know that you get frustrated easily, but you persevere anyway. I know you’re generous even at the cost of what you need to do for yourself. You’re a good friend.”

“Shit, Nurse, why don’t you just tell me you love me?”

“Nah,” Nurse said. “You’re already pretty red. Wouldn’t want you to actually combust. But Shitty would point out there’s nothing wrong with friends declaring their love, right?”

Dex shook his head.

“Fine, Nurse,” he said. “You drive me crazy, but I love you.”

He grabbed his bag to go to the library – finally – and hoped Nursey didn’t understand all the ways he meant it.


	38. “You have no idea how much I want you right now.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack visits Bitty in the Faber locker room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filling a prompt from [this list](https://justlookfrightened.tumblr.com/post/183739099035/angstfluff-prompt-list). Based on [this comic](http://checkpleasecomic.com/comic/03-04-09).

After the game, Jack made his way to the locker room door with Shitty.

After four years playing at Faber, finding his way to Wellies locker room was second nature – so much so that he almost reached for the door and entered without knocking. He would have, if Lardo hadn’t stood in the way.

“Sorry,” she said. “Gotta ask first.”

“Of course,” Jack said, taking a half-step back to wait next to Shitty.

“Coaches are already done talking,” she said, as she knocked and then opened the door.

“Rans! Holster!” she called. “Got a couple of guests out here. You guys done? Can they come in?”

A second later, she opened the door wider and made a gesture to usher then them through.

They were greeted in the short entryway by Ransom and Holster, welcoming them and asking about the post-game kegster. Shitty detoured to talk to Holster about the all-important tub juice recipe while Jack assured Ransom that he would stop by for at least a little while.

Of course he would. How else would he manage to steal a few moments alone with Bitty? He had to tell Bits how well he had played – he skated so fast he was a blur on the ice, and he actually pushed an opposing player once. In the first game of the season!

One of the freshmen – Whisk, he thought? – waylaid Jack with a replica of one of his Falcs jerseys and a Sharpie. Jack signed it as fast as he could, still trying to make it into the locker room proper, offering anodyne words of support for the team.

“You guys tried out there,” he said. “Nice start.”

“Thanks, uh, Jack,” the kid said.

Had he been about to call Jack Mr. Zimmermann? If the kid had started a year earlier, they would have been teammates. Besides, Mr. Zimmermann was his father.

Then he remembered how tongue-tied Bitty had been when Bitty met Jack’s father, and he had to stifle a chuckle.

Finally, he made it to the locker room, full of guys stripping out of their gear and making their way to and from the showers wrapped in towels. He saw Bitty as soon as he entered the room, but he couldn’t go straight to him.

Instead, he made his way around the perimeter, offering fist bumps and high-fives.

When he got to Bitty’s locker stall, he tried not to stare too obviously. Bits still had on his black Under Armour shirt, disappearing into the padded red hockey pants. You’d think the padding would obscure Bitty’s physique, but it only emphasized his trim waist and firm abs. His shoulders were broader than they had been, and the pants did nothing to disguise the roundness of Bitty’s butt.

His cheeks were pink, his hair was mussed and he smelled of sweat and hockey equipment, and Jack thought he looked as beautiful as he ever had. He wished they were alone so Jack could strip him out of his gear himself.

Judging by the way Bitty was looking at him, he had similar thoughts.

Jack bumped fists with Bitty and said, “Hey, great job. You looked good out there, Bittle. You’re really starting to protect the puck.”

As soon as Bitty’s locker neighbor headed for the shower, Jack leaned in and murmured, “You really have no idea how much I want you right now.”

He straightened up quickly, but not too quickly to catch Bitty’s, “Oh, I think I have some idea.”

Then Shitty was on his way over to collect Jack, and Jack said, “Good. I’ll see you at the Haus, eh?”

“Oh, of course,” Bitty said, shooting him a cheeky grin.

Jack was so fucked. And he couldn’t be more pleased.


	39. "Dance with me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack plans his own special evening for Bitty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prompt from [running-rabbit](http://running-rabbit.tumblr.com/) from [this list](https://justlookfrightened.tumblr.com/post/183739099035/angstfluff-prompt-list).

Jack checked one more time to make sure his phone was hooked up to the bluetooth speaker in the living room before Bitty arrived.

The table was set with the good plates and the wine glasses Maman said he would need. Food was ordered, and was supposed to arrive a half-hour after Bitty did. He reflected that at least one thing had gotten easier over the time he’d been with Bitty: He knew all his favorite dishes at the restaurants they frequented, and the maitre d’ at the Waterman Grille was more than happy to suggest wine that would go with the food.

The Waterman didn’t usually deliver, they said when he called last week. But for Jack Zimmermann, they’d make an exception. He’d planned to ask for it early and keep it warm in the oven, but he was told the chef objected to that. If he did, Bitty would, too. They’d just have to be prepared to answer the door.

The lights in the living room were already turned low, and he’d placed candles on the coffee table (already moved to the side), the end tables, the bookcase … were twelve candles too many? There were candles on the dining room table, too, and on the windowsill in the bedroom.

It seemed a little risky to have them on the night tables, right next to the bed.

Maybe it was too many. But was that a bad thing? He wanted Bitty to know how important this was to him. Overkill could give that message.

He remembered the way Bitty couldn’t stop laughing when he sent twelve dozen roses for Valentine’s Day last year, which he missed because he was on a roadie. Bitty had giggled, and turned his phone around the Haus kitchen so Jack could see the way the flowers croweded the counters and filled the gaps between appliances.

“You ridiculous man!” Bitty said, but his voice brimmed with fondness.

So maybe it was too many candles. But maybe that was okay.

Jack had already showered, and now he had to dress in something besides the old, soft workout clothes that he wore around the house most of the time. This was a special date night in to make up for missing Bitty’s last Winter Screw, Bitty’s last chance, as he put it, to go to the dance with a decent date.

“Aw, come on, that rugby player was okay,” Jack said. “The one you went with when I was a senior. I know you didn’t hit it off, but it wasn’t like your freshman year.”

“When the guy Ransom and Holster set me up with threw up on my shoes?” Bitty said. “Thanks for reminding me. Rugby guy – you’re right, there was nothing really wrong with him, except he wasn’t you. And I had to stand there and watch you dance with Camilla not fifteen feet away from me.”

“I’m sorry, Bits,” Jack said.

“It wasn’t your fault, Jack,” Bitty said. “I would have been mortified if I thought you knew how big of a crush I had on you. Why shouldn’t you have fun with your date, just because I spent the evening wishing I was in her shoes?”

“I know, but now that I’d love to go to the dance with you, I can’t,” Jack said. “We leave that night for Chicago.”

“And I’m guessing that the PR folks would rather not have you at a college dance where students have been known to pre-game, then sneak in booze, and maybe get a little handsy and familiar on the dance floor?” Bitty said.

“They probably would have rather we didn’t kiss on the ice last June either,” Jack said. “But we’re not here, so it’s not even a question.”

“Dang,” Bitty said. “Too bad I can’t take Camilla.”

“She probably wouldn’t mind, if she was still in Samwell,” Jack said. “She always liked you.”

So Jack determined to make it up the first weekend night they could spend together. It would be easier, he thought, to do it at home. Clubs didn’t play the kind of music he wanted to dance to with Bits, and if the evening went the way he hoped, they’d both appreciate the short trip down the hall to the bedroom.

Well, if this was a dance, he should put on his best suit, and the blue tie that Bitty said brought out his eyes.

He’d apologized to Bitty profusely for not being able to meet him at the train station, told him to order a rideshare on the account that Jack paid for. The train was supposed to arrive while Jack was getting dressed; he went to the living room to check his phone and found a text from Bitty saying the train had arrived and his car should be there in a moment.

Jack took the time he had left to light the candles and turn off the extra lights in the condo, setting the mood for as soon as Bitty walked in the door.

Jack was standing in the entryway when he heard Bitty’s key in the lock.

“You wouldn’t believe the lady in front of me on the train, Jack,” Bitty was saying as the door swung in. “On the phone the whole time at the top of her lungs. I know more about her female troubles than her gyne – Jack, what’s this? Why the suit?”

“I wanted to look good for you,” Jack said. “I was trying to make up for missing Winter Screw.”

“I’ve got to say, I didn’t see anyone there who looked as good as you,” Bitty said. “I’m underdressed.”

“You look great,” Jack said. “Dance with me?”

He took Bitty by the hand and led the way into the living room, where he started the playlist and Patsy Cline started singing, “Crazy.”

Jack drew Eric into his arms and began to move, more than just swaying to the music but keeping the steps simple and uncomplicated. He closed his eyes when Bitty rested his head against Jack’s chest.

When the music changed to Elvis Presley’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” Bitty rubbed his forehead against Jack’s chest and murmured, “Is this playlist two hours of slow, romantic country songs?”

“They’re not country,” Jack said. “‘Unforgettable’ is on there too. Besides, dinner will be here soon.”

“I love it, Jack,” Bitty said. “And I love you. But after dinner, we are dancing to Bey, all right?”

“Whatever you want, Bits.”


	40. "I wasn't lying when I said that I loved you"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack clarifies his feelings after having to hide their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filling an anonymous prompt from [this list](https://justlookfrightened.tumblr.com/post/183739099035/angstfluff-prompt-list).  
> Takes place after the events of [this comic](http://checkpleasecomic.com/comic/03-05-08).

When Jack was little, he didn’t like when his father went on road trips. It seemed unfair for Papa to go visit new places and have fun without Jack being there.

It didn’t take long for Jack to understand that road trips weren’t vacations and there wasn’t time to explore. Then he didn’t like it just because it meant Papa was gone and couldn’t come to his hockey games.

But it wasn’t until he was a Falconer and Bitty was still a Wellie that he understood how much those trips must have worn on Papa.

Jack knew he was lucky to have his own room on the road. Most rookies shared, to keep an eye on each other if nothing else. But at 26, and with a reputation for being a bit of a grandpa, no one thought Jack needed a minder to make sure he didn’t break curfew.

So it should be easy to talk to Bitty every night. They could video chat, Bitty in his room at the Haus, Jack in his hotel room, with as much privacy as anyone could ask for.

But that didn’t account for their schedules, or the other demands on Bitty’s time. Jack’s life was physically intense, but included stretches of downtime, periods where his main responsibility was to rest. As a student athlete, Bitty went from practice to class to study group to Haus dinner to the gym, it felt like.

So it shouldn’t worry Jack that Bitty had time for no more than brief “goodnight, love you,” calls for the past two days.

Should it?

He wished he was there, if not at Samwell then in Providence, close enough where he could take advantage of the class schedule Bitty sent him and surprise him with one of his sugary coffee drinks when he came out of a lecture, or pick Bitty up and grab dinner in the next town over. He wanted to see him, yes, but also to touch him and smell his hair and reassure himself that this thing between Bitty and him was real.

The team had an off-night in Denver. Instead of making plans with the team (and Jack made no apologies for falling in with the old married guys when the team went out), he texted Bitty early in the day.

_Tell me when you can Skype later_

Bitty was online as promised at eight o’clock — ten for Bitty, and he’d been going since practice at seven in the morning. No wonder he looked tired.

“You okay, bud?” Jack asked. “You look done in.”

Bitty managed a small smile and said, “That’s a fine way to greet your boyfriend. You’re supposed to be telling me how handsome I am.”

“Of course you’re beautiful,” Jack said. “But you look like you’ve been burning the candle at both ends. I wish I was there to take care of you.”

“I’m fine,” Bitty said. “Y’all are having a good trip.”

They were; they’d won their first two games with one more tomorrow before they headed home to Providence.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “But I miss you. Do you have time to meet up this weekend? If you can’t come to Providence, I can come to you for a couple of hours.”

“You want to sneak in?”

“I could, or we could find a place to go for a hike, or go into Boston and wander around, or we could go to a museum,” Jack said. “I just want to spend time with you.”

“But we couldn’t act like … like we’re on a date,” Bitty said.

“No, but I just want to be close to you,” Jack said. “We don’t always have to stay in your room or my condo … although that can be pretty great too.”

“Pretty great,” Bitty snorted. “You could say that.”

Bitty paused, then said, “Do you wish we could act like boyfriends when we’re out?”

“Of course I do,” Jack said. “I’d love be able to walk around holding hands or not worry that I’m going to forget and kiss you in front of someone. What kind of a question is that?”

Bits was looking down, probably at his hands, which were probably twisting in his lap the way he did when he was upset and afraid to say so.

Fuck. “I mean,” Jack said, in a gentler tone of voice, “did something happen to make you doubt that? Did I do something?”

“No!”

Jack waited.

“It’s just, I understand why you had to lie when Shitty accused you of seeing someone without telling him last week,” Bitty said. “But the way you reacted — it was like maybe you didn’t want to be dating. I mean, I know you like what we do when we’re together and all, but maybe that’s all you want? And I don’t want to make things— ”

“Bitty,” Jack broke in. “Bits. Slow down.”

He waited for Bitty to take a breath.

“I want everything with you,” he said. “Holding hands and dates and hearing about your day, and yes, sex too. I want it all. I just panicked when Shitty said that. But Bits, I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you.”

Bitty’s eyes were shiny even on his laptop screen.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Jack said. “Just talk to me.”

“I know,” Bitty said. “For the record, I wasn’t lying either when I said I loved you too.”


	41. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty helps Jack through an anxiety attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filling an anonymous prompt from [this list](https://justlookfrightened.tumblr.com/post/183739099035/angstfluff-prompt-list).  
> Based on [this comic](http://checkpleasecomic.com/comic/03-22-08).  
> CW: Anxiety attack

Jack was still sleeping. Bitty wasn’t sure if he should wake him – it had been his usual two hours.

He was kneading the bread dough on the counter, and the almonds were just out of the oven. Bitty kept a Mason jar of peanut butter on hand when he was just making sandwiches for Jack, but when he was feeding the whole team, he always went to almonds. Snowy had a peanut allergy, and Bitty didn’t want to take any chances on him taking a bite of the wrong sandwich.

It didn’t hurt that he could add a touch of maple syrup to the almond butter.

“Bitty?”

Jack was up.

“Oh, there he is, Monsieur Grumpy fresh from Nap Town,” Bitty said. “And you know I’m in the kitchen.”

Jack stumbled in, looking groggy and confused.

“Sweetheart, your phone was buzzing for a whole minute and I know it wasn’t the group chat since—”

“Bitty?” Jack whispered.

Jack was not okay. Bitty wiped his hands on a dish towel and lay one on Jack’s chest, the other on his arm, trying to get a look at Jack’s eyes.

“Jack? Jack, honey, hey … Jack?”

“I guess I’ve been thinking about Game Five,” Jack started, his words halting. “I was thinking about the game and, uh … could you sit with me?”

Bitty took Jack by the hand and led him to the living room. As soon as Jack was seated on the couch, Bitty perched on his lap, allowing Jack to bury his face in Bitty’s shoulder.

“I guess it hit me,” Jack said. “This is it. It’s the cup,” Jack said.

Bitty nodded into Jack’s hair to show he understood. If the Falconers won tonight, they’d be in the Stanley Cup Final, in Jack’s first year in the league. He wasn’t just any rookie; he was the Falconers leading scorer and a leader on the ice and in the dressing room. It wasn’t for nothing he received an A midway through the season.

All that responsibility was weighing on Jack, who was starting to hyperventilate.

“Should I get off you?” Bitty asked. “You can breathe between your –”

“No. I. It’s not. I should be fine if … just wait a sec.”

Jack drew a slow breath and let it out.

“I’m usually alone,” Jack said. “This helps.”

Usually? How often did Jack feel like this? It wouldn’t help to ask now. He just cradled Jack’s head close and breathed with him. A moment later, Jack said, “Sorr-”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Bitty broke in.

“Yeah, I haven’t felt like that in a while,” Jack said, answering Bitty’s unspoken question. “If we win Game Five, it’s the Cup, but if we lose … and then lose another, and then another … it’d be just like the draft again. I’d be this huge fuck up.”

“You are no such thing,” Bitty said. “And Jack, honey, one game at a time.”

“Right, you’re right,” Jack said, and sighed. “I’m feeling better. Thanks, Bits.”

Bits turned to face Jack, straddling his thighs and gathering him close.

“Of course,” he said. “You’ve got all the support in the world behind you, and that’s never going away. Ever. From your family, your friends, your team, from me.”

“Thanks, Bits,” Jack said, murmuring into his neck. “I don’t deserve you.”

“None of that, now,” Bitty said. “Of course you do, as much as one person can deserve another.”

“No one could deserve you,” Jack said, “especially me. I’m sorry I can be such an asshole.”

“Hush,” Bitty said. “Having anxiety doesn’t make you an asshole.”

“It can,” Jack said. “When all I’m focused on is me, and how things are going to affect me. I mean, here you are working all day to do something nice for me and my team, and I’m just worried about what people will think about me.”

“Jack, I know you,” Bitty said. “You are so focused on your team. That’s the anxiety talking.”

“And you know I was dick to you your first season,” Jack said. “At least at the beginning.”

“You were honest,” Bitty said. “And you helped me get better.”

Jack made a humming sound that was far short of agreement.

“Really,” Bitty said. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you. You’re honest, and you’re generous, and you care so much. You’re smart and you’re dedicated and determined and I love you more than anything.”

“Not more than I love you,” Jack said.

“Did I mention you’re competitive?” Butty chirped.

“Haha,” Jack said. “I thought you said you wouldn’t change anything?”

“I wouldn’t,” Bitty said, standing up. “And, sleeping beauty, you woke up just in time. I was starting to get lonely making bread and almond butter for thirty sandwiches.”

“Let me help?” Jack said. “It’ll take my mind off my stuff.”

“Well, then,” Bitty said. “Come help me dice nuts, ya big lug.”


	42. “You’re so adorable”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty practices for a job interview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filling an anonymous prompt from [this list](https://justlookfrightened.tumblr.com/post/183739099035/angstfluff-prompt-list).

Bitty stood in front of the camera, put on his most confident smile, and said, “Hello, I’m Eric Bittle. Pleased to meet you.”

Then he looked down at the index card in front of him.

_Why do you want this job?_

“I think I would be a perfect fit for this job because of my experience with both food and social media. I believe food is something that connects us as people, and I can help you use social media to connect to your food.”

Dang it.

“No, wait. I can help you use social media to connect to your customers and potential customers.”

He flipped to the next card.

_What are your three biggest strengths?_

“First, I’m a hard worker. I graduated from Samwell University in four years and played all four years on the men’s hockey team, and I maintained a consistent internet presence with my baking vlog. The link is – ”

Bitty shook his head. He’d have to add it to his resume or cover letter.

“The link is right here, if you’d like to see it. Second, I’m creative. I can customize recipes to meet different people’s needs and – and I get along with all kinds of people.”

That answer needed work. Sure, the job he was applying for was at chain of local bakeries, but it wasn’t as a baker. It was managing social media accounts and doing some other marketing work for them, although he would also have to cross-train to work behind the counter. Entry level, to be sure, but a foot in the door. And he needed a job. He couldn’t just live with Jack and play on the internet all day indefinitely.

_What’s your biggest weakness?_

They always asked that, didn’t they? Bitty knew he couldn’t say what he really thought: that he was too easily distracted, or that he tended to procrastinate (procrastibake?) too much.

“My mind tends to go in lots of directions at once,” Bitty started. “So, um, I’m comfortable in an environment where you have to keep moving and respond to –” Nope. Probably shouldn’t mention the possibility of problems.

Bitty took a deep breath and said, “Take two.”

Just as he prepared to tackle the weakness question again, he caught sight of movement in the doorway.

“Jack! When did you get home?”

“Just a few minutes ago, bud,” Jack said. “Practicing for your job interview tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Bitty said. “I’ve been interviewing all summer, but I feel like this job might really work for me.”

“Don’t you mean you might really work for them?”

“Hush, you.”

“Did you really have to put the whole interview suit on?” Jack said, looking Bitty up and down. “And do you need a suit to do social media and sell pastries?”

“Yes, and no,” Bitty said. “Yes, because I want to watch and see if anything looks off or awkward, and it wouldn’t look right if I was wearing shorts. And no, I won’t need to wear a suit every day, but it is customary to dress up for a job interview. I’m going with the bow tie for some personal flair.”

“Well, I’m glad you got dressed up,” Jack said. “You’re so adorable.”

“Well, I don’t want to be,” Bitty said. “I don’t want them to see me as adorable and cute. Baby ducks are cute.”

“Lardo likes baby ducks.”

“But you wouldn’t call Lardo adorable, would you? I need to be … not intimidating, but competent and reliable and smart.”

“You are all those things,” Jack said. “And they’d be crazy not to hire you. But I still think you’re adorable.”

“Fine,” Bitty huffed. “Help me with this?”

“Sure,” Jack said. “Let me change into a suit so I can play interviewer. Then when we’re done, I’ll take you out for dinner?”

“Only if my interviewer wants to give me the job.”

“I think I can guarantee that,” Jack said.


End file.
